


Bound to Freedom

by indyamy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fanart, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Mages (Dragon Age), Mostly Canon Compliant, One-Sided Attraction, Slow Burn, Templars (Dragon Age), really slow burn, this is NOT a Cullen Takes Lyrium fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indyamy/pseuds/indyamy
Summary: Inquisitor Trevelyan, the most famous mage in Thedas, is faced with few choices when the Chantry decides to reopen the Circles of Magi. In order to protect the Inquisition and her freedom, she and Commander Cullen Rutherford agree to marry, even though they have rarely interacted outside of the War Room.This slow burn romance takes place after the defeat of Corypheus.I hope to update on a regular basis as we all anxiously await any information on DA4.Content warning has been updated to reflect chapter 12.Final chapters are now posted, including an epilogue! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this story and left kudos or feedback. I hope you enjoy the conclusion!
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor & Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 46
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

At her formidable oaken desk, Josephine Montilyet sat perfectly still. As ambassador of the Inquisition, she had seen more than her share of outlandish correspondence. Marriage proposals for the Inquisitor with a request for Josephine’s own hand if the Inquisitor declined. Requests to mediate a family squabble over the ownership of a supposedly enchanted sheep. She thought that was prepared for anything, no matter how outrageous, but she had been wrong. Her dark brown eyes poured over the paper before her for a second time, sure that she had misunderstood. The paper was crisp and thick, so luxurious that it had the feeling of cloth. Emblazoned at the top of the paper was a small orange sunburst inside a larger red one, and black ink scrawled hurriedly across the page. Her second reading of the words brought her no additional understanding, only a sense of dread. Josephine looked up to their Spymaster, Leliana, with disbelief in her eyes. “This cannot be. So soon?”

Leliana solemnly held Josephine’s gaze. “We knew Divine Victoria would reinstate the Circles upon her ascent to Divine.”

“But it has only been two weeks since the ceremony! How could the mandate even be written and approved so quickly? And to be enacted next week?! What happened to the Writ of Nuntianum?”

Leliana sighed. “The Writ and required waiting period before enforcement of a mandate were suspended temporarily due to ‘overwhelming necessity for the protection of the people,'” she said, glancing at her spy’s report that had accompanied the missive Josephine read. “The Chantry is eager to enact reforms now that the Divine has finally assumed the Sunburst throne. They have spent too long without a Divine, and the issue of free-roaming apostate mages needed to be resolved. I am told all the Grand Clerics supported the Divine in the reopening of the Circles.”

“As we knew they would, but the Inquisitor…"

“…Need not return to the Circle if she meets certain qualifications,” Leliana finished. Her soft Orlesian voice held an edge that Josephine knew well.

Josephine stared at Leliana for a moment, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. “But she is not…no,” she gasped. “No, we cannot ask that of her. She has given the Inquisition so much already.”

“And where will we be if she is returned to the Circle? We have discussed this, Josie.”

“We can surely get Empress Celene to…” she frowned. Val Royeaux was over a week’s journey to and from Skyhold. “The messenger would not make it back before she was returned to the Circle.”

Leliana nodded in agreement. “The templars remaining in Skyhold will be receiving their orders shortly. All known apostate mages will be notified of the reopening of the Circle towers and given 24 hours to submit to their Circle or to the nearest templar. We must act before that time.”

Josephine sighed. She knew Leliana had already plotted their course. “You have someone in mind?”

“Yes.” Her voice was heavy, and the word hung in the air between the two women.

Josephine’s eyes grew wide. “We cannot. We promised Cassandra…”

“Cassandra no longer exists. We make decisions for the Inquisition, not for ghosts.”

Josephine looked down again at the paper in front of her. The words were blurring, swirling illegibly before her. “They will never agree to this,” she whispered.

Leliana turned away from her friend. She squared her shoulders to keep them from slumping. “They must.”


	2. Chapter 2

Anya Trevelyan pulled her luxurious cotton duvet over her head, cursing the sun, all the wine the Tevineter Imperium had ever created, and especially Dorian Pavus. She had known better than to accept any wine that Dorian offered from his own reserve, but she had already been three ales deep in the tavern while listening to one of Varric’s more animated tales when Dorian appeared next to her, instantly yammering on about the “backwater swill” she was consuming. He had promised his wine would be better, and he even somehow convinced Cabot to let them drink it in the tavern. Varric and Bull had wisely declined the wine, but Anya had been deep enough in her cups to think of not a single objection to free libations. This she blamed on the Circle, having never had access to alcohol before she joined the Inquisition. She groaned under her blankets at her foolishness, but she smiled when she remembered Dorian riding out of the tavern on Bull’s back, shouting something in Tevene as he ran his hands over the Qunari’s back. They were adorable together, and Anya knew each only remained in Skyhold to be with the other.

Regardless of their reasons, she was glad they remained. Many of her companions had left in wake of Corypheus’s defeat. Cassandra had become Divine, as expected, and Vivienne had returned to Val Royeaux to support the Divine in her efforts to reestablish the Circles. Sera had taken Cole somewhere under the guise of “helping,” and Anya still wished she would have gotten more specifics before they had left Skyhold. They had been gone for some time, but Anya would occasionally receive missives from Orlais with butts drawn on them, so she assumed they were well, wherever they were. Blackwall had left to join up with the remaining Wardens, though Anya knew that if things would have been different between them that he would have stayed. They had been lovers, she supposed, if the term could apply to two people who liked to drink together and then literally and figuratively roll around in the hay. 

After the Thom Rainier business, though, she had not looked at him the same way. She had asked so little from him, but she had wanted honesty. They were barely speaking by the time she fought Corypheus. She wished she knew how to forgive him, but she could not. She was also particularly displeased with Solas, who had disappeared without a word after battling Corypheus, taking their best ice staff with him. He had told Anya that he respected her, which coming from an apostate elf who appeared to like no one, had been meaningful to Anya. Then he just disappeared, and she chalked it up to yet another man who at lied to her. At least she had not slept with _him_. 

Anya sighed and tried to clear her mind as her headache flared. She gingerly rolled out of bed to grab her staff. She focused on her headache and cast a spell on herself to remove the residual effects of the alcohol on her system. If she had been less drunk, she would have done it last night, but considering she could not have found her rooms without Varric’s assistance, she had passed out in bed without another thought. Anya felt instantly better with her head cleared, and she jumped back into her bed and pulled up the blankets. She had nothing to do today, and she was looking forward to spending every possible moment in the warmth beneath her covers. She relished the days when nothing was required of her and she could choose to do whatever she wanted, even if that was remain in bed until the afternoon. Her eyes closed as she reached the edge of sleep when she heard a quick knock at her door. Her eyes shot open at the noise, and she sighed in irritation. She lowered her blanket to just below her chin in an effort to retain as much warmth as possible. “Enter,” she bade to the intruder upon her solitude.

She had never seen the woman before, her dark skin blending into the deep brown of the tunic she wore, but Anya knew immediately that she was one of Leliana’s people. The usual Skyhold attendants would apologize profusely for the interruption if they found her in bed, reading, writing reports, or doing anything at all. Leliana’s agents, on the other hand, confidently approached her wherever she was and whatever she was doing, unintimidated by her status as Inquisitor. Anya watched as the woman walked silently to her bed side, her voice low as she informed the Inquisitor of a meeting with her advisors in half an hour before turning and leaving as silently as she had entered. A quick meeting called by Leliana meant that something important had happened. 

Anya reluctantly rose from her bed after the messenger left, and the chill of the stone floor immediately assaulted her feet. She grabbed the blanket from her bed and wrapped herself in it as she made her way to her dressing table. It had been a present from some minor noble in Orlais, who was apparently very taken with Anya when she visited the Winter Palace. Either very interested, or he was hoping she would not disclose that he had slept with at least two of Emperor Celene’s servants during the course of the night. He had gone especially red when she had said, “And here I had heard that good help was so hard to find in Orlais!” when she caught him for the second time that evening. Leliana had chided her for the remark later, but the man was being so painfully obvious, she had not been able to resist. Whatever the case, he had sent a beautiful mahogany dressing table to Skyhold, addressed to the Most Illustrious Inquisitor, Savior of Thedas. 

Anya loved the table. It reminded her of one that belonged to her mother when she lived at home in Ostwick. She adored watching her mother get ready every day, braiding her long black hair until it fell into a perfect plait down her back. She would beg her mother to let her use any of her makeup, which usually resulted in a bare brush being dusted over her face with a declaration that she was already the most beautiful girl in the Free Marches. Her mother would then braid Anya’s hair while she sat at the dressing table, humming softly, her fingers deftly taming Anya’s hair. She had missed those moments the most when she was sent to the Ostwick Circle, days after her eighth birthday, when she accidentally set fire to a fence while playing with her brother. He had hidden behind a shrub behind the stables and jumped from behind it as she passed to scare her. She screeched and fire shot from her hands, barely missing James. He had tried to put the fire out before anyone noticed, but a servant had seen Anya’s magic manifest and promptly informed her father. He acted quickly, taking her to the Circle that day. Their mother held James as they watched the carriage leave the estate. Her father told Anya that the Circle was the safest place for her, but she cried the entire journey. She begged him not to leave her, to take her home to her mother. The templars took her, kicking and screaming, into the tower, and she never saw her family again.

Anya sighed as she remembered that day. It had been a lifetime ago. She had never thought she would have a life outside the Circle again. The rebellion in Kirkwall had changed all that. Even though the Circle in Ostwick had remained officially neutral in the war between the templars and mages, Anya and the majority of the mages there had hoped for more freedoms. Now that she was the Inquisitor, she finally had the freedom she had sought. She had traveled through time, danced with an emperor, defeated an ancient magister and lived to tell the tale. Or, more appropriately, lived to listen to everyone else tell the tale. 

She was the talk of Thedas, but she was still a mage. She had discussed Circle reformations with Cassandra before she had left the Inquisition to become Divine Victoria, but she had not anticipated the anti-magic sentiment that had been stirred by Corypheus. Ancient magic, blood magic, corrupted red lyrium: Corypheus had used the worst parts of magic during his assault on Thedas. Instead of realizing that magic had been used to defeated him, however, citizens across Thedas appeared to care only that Corypheus was a mage, no matter how old and rare his magic may have been. Leliana had warned Anya that the Circles would likely be reopened, though Divine Victoria was pushing for reform.

Anya looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were the color of her dressing table with a soft almond shape like her mother’s. In fact, she was the spitting image of her mother, with her straight Nevarran nose and square jaw face but with her father’s caramel skin. She ran her fingers through her black hair, which she had kept short for many years, barely long enough to tuck behind her ears. Her gaze fell to the small brown scar nearly hidden by the strong curve of her jaw near her left ear. She had not looked at it in a long time. It was nearly completely faded, but she tilted her jaw to examine it more closely. She had earned her freedom, and she would be damned if she would just give it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Cullen fic without Cullen?? He will be in the next chapter; I promise!
> 
> Fun fact: The first time I played through Inquisition, I flirted with everyone so recklessly that I accidentally locked into a relationship with Blackwall. I didn't realize what I had done until I couldn't get any other romances to trigger. I fixed my mistake the next playthrough and _much_ preferred Cullen :)


	3. Chapter 3

After dressing and glancing in the mirror only to shrug at her appearance, Anya swung by the kitchens to grab a roll before heading to the War Room. Her three advisors were already there. Cullen had his back to her, leaning over the war table while reading something Anya could not see. He did not look up to her, but Josephine greeted her as Leliana gave her a small nod.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” she greeted everyone before noticing that something was wrong with the atmosphere in the room. Anya knew there would not be good news today. “What has happened?”

Josephine dropped her eyes, but Leliana looked to Anya, her face as inscrutable as ever. “We have received a missive from the Divine.”

Cullen slid the paper he had been reading along the table to Anya. She braced herself, but she was not truly prepared for what she would read.

_The Circles will be reopened on 14 Draconis under the existing law. Templars and local Chantry members will instruct mages to submit to Templars on that day to be rehoused within the Circles. Reforms will be made, but the necessity of reopening the Circle takes precedence. An exception will be granted to any mage who has married a Templar since the Circles have closed, so long as the Templar takes an oath from a Knight-Commander to watch over his or her spouse at all times, under penalty of death for both parties.  
Maker watch over us all._

The note was unsigned, but Anya knew it had come from the woman she must now call Divine Victoria. She stared at the words on the page, pouring over them one more as her breathing quickened. Her eyes shot up to the women across the table from her. “14 Draconis?! That is in six days! How? Why?” Words were failing her as panic gripped like a vice in her chest.

Leliana looked at her intensely, willing her to understand. “We knew the Circles would reopen. Since Corypheus fell, the Chantry gathered many of the uncorrupted templars and have been actively recruiting throughout Orlais, Nevarra and Ferelden to rebuild the order. The College of Magi has retracted their demands of the Chantry, afraid that the current climate is too dangerous for mages outside the Circle. Of course, we hoped that Divine Victoria would have some success with Circle reforms, but the push within the Chantry has been to reopen the Circles and work out the reforms later. My people tell me that the Divine insisted on the exception. ‘Let no one tear asunder what the Maker has joined together,’” she quoted the Chantry text.

“And that helps who?” Anya shouted incredulously. “Templars and mages were literally at war since the Circles fell. How is that anything more than a giant ‘Fuck you’ to the mages?! ‘Oh, if only you had married a templar, you could be free, but since you didn’t, go back to the Circle or be charged as an apostate!’” Anya could feel herself spiraling. She drew ragged breaths and willed herself to regain control.

“I believe the exception was meant for you, Inquisitor.”

Anya stared at Leliana with her mouth open, so many words forming in her mind that none could escape her mouth. Clearly, she was not married to anyone, templar or otherwise. How could this apply to her? Unless…

“You cannot mean…”

Josephine spoke up, pity splashed across her face. “The Divine was aware of the…problematic property declaration from King Alistair prior to assuming the Sunburst Throne. When the King proclaimed that the Inquisitor shall have all the resources at Skyhold at her disposal for her continued use, we had not considered the ramifications should you be no longer able to act as Inquisitor. He named you specifically as Inquisitor in the declaration, and, as you are aware, if you should be remanded to the Circle…”

“The Chantry will assume my assets. Yes, we have had this discussion, but…”

Josephine resumed speaking before Anya could finish. She appeared to be going through a predetermined speech in her head, which only exasperated Anya further. “Because the King named you specifically as Inquisitor, the assets of Skyhold are yours specifically. Even if we named another Inquisitor, the royal proclamation would still apply to you. We have written the King, but he remains in Val Royeaux as he and Empress Celene continue to work on the peace treaty and trade accords between the two nations. We…do not believe his advisors see the issue as a priority,” she finished with a frown.

“If not for the Inquisition, the King would have a crazed magister in Redcliffe, not to mention that all of Thedas would be destroyed by now,” Anya said through clinched teeth.

“It is not a matter of thankfulness,” Leliana said directly, assuming authority over the conversation. “The Inquisition has unprecedented power now. The King is unavailable, and his advisors are not in a rush to do anything that would solidify our power.” Anya opened her mouth, but Leliana cut her off. “We cannot force his hand without risking his goodwill. It will be dealt with at a later time. For now, we must keep you from the Circle to protect the Inquisition. Unless you defect to Tevinter or convert to the Qun, you must marry a templar.”

Leliana had the good sense to stop with that. Anya closed her eyes and fought to control temper and, by extension, her magic. She could feel fire blazing inside of her, aching to burn everything in her rage. It was a rage she had not felt since she had been left at the Circle by her father. She had been terrified when she watched him leave, but her terror was soon replaced by an almost inhuman rage. She had lost everything on the Maker’s whim: her family, her home, her title, her future. She had hated the Maker and hated the magic that she was powerless to control. First Enchanter Gewecke was a patient, even-tempered woman, something Anya did not appreciate until years later. The First Enchanter took her into a small room away from the templars and let Anya rage against her fate. She never knew how long she had screamed, but she eventually fell to the stone floor sobbing. Gewecke held her there as she cried until she had no tears left and only a vast emptiness inside her remained. 

The First Enchanter spoke to her then, and Anya would remember the words until her final breath. “The life of a mage is not an easy one, child, but you must not make it more difficult for yourself. You must control yourself and your magic if you hope to survive.” She told Anya that she had the power to control her magic and that made her more powerful than even templars would ever realize. She must revel in that power and not relinquish it. Her words filled the void inside Anya with a sense of control that she desperately needed. As the years passed, she relished the control she could exhibit over her emotions and, as an extension, her magic. She had been confident when the First Enchanter sent her to the Conclave that she would be a shining example of the restraint mages could exhibit and that restraint would prove that she and her fellow mages deserved more autonomy. Even so, she had never truly believed she would be free of the Circle. 

Then she opened the wrong door, and everything changed. An interrupted ritual. The death of the Divine. Surviving the Fade. She had thought that she had been blessed with the mark, given the ability to close the rifts by the Maker, so that she could save their world. She had been able to travel Thedas, using her magic with a freedom beyond any dream she had ever conceived. Her magic had become an art form to her, an expression of creativity that she had not known she had kept restrained. Now, she wondered if the mark was instead a curse. It had given her more freedom, glorious freedom, than she had ever dreamed, and now it was going to be ripped from her grasp. 

She was suddenly overwhelmed. Anya closed her eyes and leaned against the war table attempting to think, to sort through this mess that had been laid before her. She breathed slowly, controlling herself and her magic. If she went to the Circle, she would be risking all of property of the Inquisition, and she would be watched by templars day and night. She could not return to the Circle again. She knew she would never again submit to the control of the templars, of the strict regimented life within the Tower. If she married a templar, she would at least not be confined to the Circle, though she could think of exactly zero templars whom she would trust enough to marry. She frowned and looked back to her Spymaster, who was still watching her intently.

“But if I marry, my property would be shared among myself and my spouse,” she said slowly. Leliana nodded in assent, waiting. Anya could feel dread pool in the pit of her stomach. “You already have someone in mind.”

“It has to be me,” Cullen said, still beside her. If she had not been leaning on the table, she would have jumped. She had forgotten he was next to her, and she turned to look at him now. He was still leaning on the table, much the same way she was. She could just see his face above the black and crimson fur that sat atop his coat, but he looked completely defeated. She had not seen him look so poorly since he had gone through the worst of his struggles with lyrium withdrawal. Anya’s eyes grew wide at the thought. As the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, he had told her about his decision to stop taking lyrium, which she wholeheartedly supported. She would support anyone who was turning away from the templar life, and she would never force someone to return to it, especially if that meant taking lyrium.

“Would you have to take lyrium?” she asked him after a moment. He would not look at her, and she spun back to Josephine and Leliana, her eyes flicking increasingly frantically back and forth between the two of them, looking for support. Neither said a word.

“No! No! Absolutely not! How can you even ask this of him?! We will not be forcing anyone to take lyrium!” She looked at Josephine, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. If she saw even a single tear slide down Josephine’s face, she knew she would be ruined. She quickly looked to Leliana’s face, usually so composed, but whose features were now strained. She took a breath, but Cullen spoke before she could.

“They have not asked me,” he said, his head still hung but his voice even, “but there is no other choice. We have seen how easily templars were corrupted with red lyrium, and we cannot risk you married to someone who would harm you. If you were to die,” he paused for a breath that shook infinitesimally, “we cannot risk the Inquisition’s property falling to someone who would not return it to the Inquisition. We will already be losing some of our troops to the Templars; we cannot afford further loses.” Resignation dripped from every word he spoke.

Cullen’s words appeared to steady Leliana, and she pressed forward. “Our Commander is correct. This is a matter of protecting you and the Inquisition, but it will need not be a permanent solution. Cullen need only take enough lyrium to convince the Knight-Commander he is still able to perform the duties of a templar. King Alistair will eventually clarify the property proclamation, of that I am confident. Once our property is no longer exclusively deeded to Anya, the marriage can be annulled, so long as it has not been consummated.”

Anya heard some sort of strange, strangled cough escape from Cullen as she stared at Leliana. So much of this had been carefully considered, she wondered how long her Spymaster had known that this news was coming. Anya mulled over the words, something bitter gnawing at her. “And if the marriage is annulled, I would then be remanded to the Circle?” she asked flatly. She knew the answer, but she wanted to make Leliana say it.

“It is very likely,” she said with equal measures composure and sadness. “We may be able to get a special exception for you from the Divine, but considering it would need to be approved by every acting First Enchanter as well, it is highly unlikely, given the current roster of First Enchanters.” Anya both appreciated and hated Leliana’s knowledge of Chantry politics. She focused on her breathing again. Whatever hollow husk of a marriage she and Cullen would share would only be a a temporary reprieve from the Circle for her, of that she was sure. 

She had no feeling at the prospect of marriage. Marriages were, like so many things, not expressly forbidden among Circle mages, but they were implicitly discouraged. Any child born to a mage in the Circle was immediately removed from the parents, which was enough to discourage most mages from forming any lasting romantic attachments to anyone within the Circle. By necessity, she never allowed herself to linger on thoughts of romance or weddings. If this were going to happen, she would have to think of it as a business transaction between colleagues and nothing more. She realized suddenly, however, that she had no idea what the Templar stance was on marriage; the topic had not been discussed while they had observed her within the confines of the Circle.

Leliana seemed to sense Anya getting lost in her thoughts, and the Spymaster, as she had often done so many times before, acted to keep them on track. “We will give you a moment to discuss this together,” she said as moved toward the door, giving them both pointed looks that indicated that there was only one acceptable outcome to this conversation. Josephine told them to take all the time she needed as she shut the door behind her. Anya turned to Cullen and keenly felt the crushing realization that she knew very little about him. The only time she could remember them being alone together was when he had told her he had stopped taking lyrium, which had been months ago. Their interactions were limited to the war table or to an occasional round of Wicked Grace in the tavern, surrounded by others. She knew nothing of his family, his life as a templar…was he even interested in women? She shifted uncomfortably, having no idea where to start with the million questions that threatened to burst forth from her. Cullen slowly and silently met her gaze, and she felt she had to say something, lest they stare at each other until she was due to be taken to the Circle.

“So…marriage.” She closed her eyes, wishing her mouth had remained shut.

Cullen exhaled and relaxed somewhat. “This is not a topic I had expected to discuss with you, Inquisitor,” as he gave her a small smile, accentuating the small scar that brushed the scar on the right portion of his upper lip. His smile comforted her less than she had hoped.

“By the Maker, Cullen! We are talking about marriage! Please call me Anya,” she asked him yet again. She had lost track of how many times she had insisted that he call her by her given name. She had given up eventually, as he steadfastly referred to her as either the Herald of Andraste or, more often, Inquisitor. She sighed at the apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry. This is not a topic I thought I would discuss, well…ever. But, the lyrium…you can’t. I will not be responsible for turning anyone back to lyrium. Please…,” the words died on her lips as he shook his head.

“I was prepared to take lyrium if necessary while we hunted Corypheus. And now…we have built something here. We can truly help people with the resources that the Inquisition has at its disposal. I will not have that be lost because I refused to take lyrium.” His shoulders were squared as spoke, hand gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip. He exuded confidence throughout his entire countenance, and Anya could plainly see his Templar training. She fought her urge to shy away from him; they had much they should discuss.

“But I thought you left the Order? Are you still considered a templar?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “The rebellion in Kirkwall was a…tumultuous time. The Chantry was not swift in its response to the uprising. The templars that remained were given no commands by the Chantry as they focused their efforts on suppressing uprisings elsewhere. Most templars simply scattered. I never technically left the Order, so I am officially still a templar.” Anya had heard only the broadest description of what had happened there. She could see the shadows of pain cross Cullen’s face and wondered what had truly happened in Kirkwall. 

“If you are sure about the lyrium…” she looked at him for reassurance, which he gave with a swift nod. So many more questions swirled in her mind, but one felt more pressing than the rest.

“So you would have no objections to marrying me?” 

Her head was spinning. Was it this simple? Wait, did she just propose?

Cullen colored severely, running his hand through his wavy blond hair as she stared at him wide-eyed, contemplating the implications of her question while the rest of her questions faded away. His gaze focused on her, and he responded with intensity that she did not expect. “I believe it is traditional for the man to pose the question.” He paused to take a quick breath. “Anya…Would you do me the honor of your hand?” he asked, and damn him if he did not look at her as though it was a sincere question. He watched her intently, as if he did not know what answer she would give. The intensity of his gaze stunned her, and she could only nod in acceptance. He relaxed then, straightening his shirt before stepping past her, taking a deep breath and opening the door leading to the hallway beyond the War Room. He held the door for her, and her feet moved automatically as her head swam against the flood of emotions swirling inside of her. She walked down the hallway to Josephine’s office, where Leliana and Josephine looked to her expectantly. 

The dazed look on her face must have signaled her intent to be married to a man whose middle name she did not even know because Leliana smiled at her as Josephine was practically beaming. Leliana launched into her plan. With Mother Giselle having left Skyhold, Josephine had confirmed that Mother Eglantine at the Chantry in Redcliffe would be willing to perform their ceremony. Leliana’s spies reported that Knight-Commander Harrith was also in Redcliffe, preparing to gather mages and travel to the Tower Circle at Lake Calenhad once the Circles officially reopened. The Spymaster assured Anya that with Harrith’s known mage sympathies, that he would be the most likely candidate to accept Cullen’s oath without unwanted questions. Cullen should only have to take enough lyrium to convince Harrith that he was still actively consuming it. She glanced at Cullen, and he nodded in agreement. 

Afterward, Cullen would need to be by Anya’s side at all times. Leliana had confirmed that templars would be given the power to exercise “all necessary force” to detain any mages that were in violation of the new regulation and any templar who refused their sworn duty. The stiff punishment for breaking the oath was likely to deter unions such as the one they were planning, so they needed to exercise constant vigilance. Anya listened numbly as Leliana instructed that Iron Bull, Dorian and Varric would accompany them to Redcliffe, then they would need to head to Orlais after their business concluded to the Hissing Wastes, to investigate scouting reports that Venatori activity was continuing in the area.

Cullen agreed to meet the party in the morning, and he left to brief his first lieutenant, who would be assuming his duties while he was away from Skyhold. Anya was unsure how long she had been staring out the window, thinking of a million things and nothing, when Josephine tilted her head into her field of vision. “Inquisitor?”

“I am sorry, Josephine,” she replied automatically.“What did you ask?”

“Do you have something appropriate to wear for the ceremony?” she asked gently.

“Appropriate?” She looked down to the drab under armor she wore while she was in Skyhold. It was undyed nug skin, perhaps the saddest color in Thedas. She had functional mage robes that she wore for battle and the uniformed finery worn at the Winter Palace, but nothing else to wear. The absurdity of the question swiftly struck her. Why did it matter what she wore when the marriage was a sham from the beginning? Josephine was asking her what she was going to wear, as though this were some Orlesian ball! She considered just wearing the awful finery from the Winter Palace, which had been clearly cut for a man, with its blue silk sash, garish gold buttons on a sea of red velvet and a high neck line so unflattering to her round face that she had been shocked that any of the fashionable denizens of Halamshiral had given her a second look. The men in their party had looked quite dashing in the ensemble, however, and she remembered that Cullen especially had more than his fair share of attention that night. Anya suddenly pictured the two of them side by side in the Chantry in Redcliffe, standing in front of the Revered Mother reciting their vows to each other in matching red velvet attire. He would look better than she did, and the thought made her give a short, dry chuckle. This was all so ridiculous. “Does it even matter?” she shrugged to Josephine. 

“We must give the illusion of sincerity, Inquisitor.” Leliana responded. “Beyond convincing Harrith and Mother Eglantine, the anti-magic sentiment continues to grow in many areas. We do not want to give anyone cause to doubt you. You will be one of few mages outside the Circle and will thus be a target.”

“I’ve never even had a conversation with Cullen that didn’t involve Inquisition matters! How am I supposed to convince all of Thedas that we are hopelessly in love?!”

Leliana smiled. “Luckily, there is plenty of time for conversation before you arrive in Redcliffe. I will leave the _particulars_ to you and Cullen, but if ‘hopelessly in love’ is too much, I am sure you will be able to muster ‘friendly.’”

“You are mocking me.”

“What I believe our Spymaster is saying,” Josephine interjected, “is that you only need to not arouse suspicion. You and Cullen have worked together for long enough that I have faith it will not be an issue.” At Anya’s uncertain expression, she smiled. “Come now. You have surely been given worse tasks than to marry a quiet, handsome templar who-“

“Whom we are certain will act with your best interest in mind,” Leliana asserted.

Anya sighed. “I can’t ask him to take lyrium, Leliana.”

Her eyes softened at that, if only a little. “Cullen has volunteered to do this. He knows the risks, and we must trust that he knows himself well enough to make this choice.”

Anya had no response. The women dispersed to make their own preparations, and Anya returned to her room to think.


	4. Chapter 4

Once back in her rooms, Anya went to her balcony overlooking the mountains. The fresh air was crisp even though it was now afternoon, and the cloudless sky was the perfect cerulean color she had only seen high above the mountains. This was one of her favorite places in Skyhold to go when she needed to be alone, and she had an opportunity to assess herself. Her earlier panic had given way to the now familiar feeling of fleshing out a plan. This was a mission, nothing more. This was manageable. She could do this. She would marry Cullen, go to the Hissing Wastes, and likely return to a response from King Alistair. Josephine had agreed to pursue different avenues for exemptions from a return to the Circle, perhaps an Orelsian court appointment or as a special advisor in Tevinter. She had options that did not include the Circle. She would be okay.

She left her rooms with a sense of purpose. She went to the undercraft first in an effort to craft something _appropriate_ , but if she was heading to the Hissing Wastes, it must also be something practical. Dagna, the chatty archanist, was there as usual, and Anya asked her for assistance in picking materials, as she was particularly adept at visualizing how different materials would work together. They spent an hour pouring over materials and patterns, and Anya happily lost herself in the work. She chose a long, sleeveless coat in an off-white kings willow weave with dark grey dragon webbing piping, an addition suggested by Dagna which looked beautiful against the pale cloth. Anya figured it would be appropriate enough for a Chantry wedding and light enough to survive the blazing heat of the Wastes. 

Dagna insisted on experimenting with the last of their hardened gurn hide for the under armor, and Anya was pleased that the combination of firing and cooling resulted in a sturdy material with beautiful light blue-grey coloring. Dagna gushed over the coloring and intricacies of the magic as they worked to fit it to Anya’s specifications and packed with the rest of her equipment. She gave Dagna authority to experiment with batches of any of their remaining materials, and the dwarf excitedly turned her suffocating attention away from Anya. 

As she finished crafting the potions they would require on their journey, she mentally confirmed everyone’s armor and weaponry were adequate. She had no idea what armor Cullen would be wearing but figured she should come up with something for him if he was going to be fighting alongside her. She found his measurements in the blacksmith’s records and went to work. She eventually settled on pale grey dragon bone armor with dark blue stormheart accents. The sword and shield she crafted with more stormheart with deep brown volcanic aurum and shining dragon scales at the hilt of the sword and across the breadth of the shield. She threw in a master cleansing rune on the sword for good measure. They were the best materials she had; Maker take her if she would let anyone die while in her party.

She wrapped the armor and shield in a bundle of leather so as to not dull the finish, wrapping the sword separately, and deposited both packages in her room. She would give them to Cullen later. She told herself that he must surely be as busy as she was and would not appreciate an interruption. She left her chambers and walked through the Great Hall on her way to the stables. Varric was at his usual spot near the massive stone fireplace at the main doors to the hall. The fireplace soared three stories above him, making him look even shorter than he already was. He told her idly that he had heard that Cullen would be traveling with them and casually observed it would be a big change, all the while watching her closely. Sometimes she wondered how a straight-shooter could be so evasive.

“Sounds like something for your next _Swords and Shields_ installment,” she said, referencing his own book series full of ridiculous romance and crazy plot twists.

Varric shook his head. “Nah, even I couldn’t write shit like this.” He turned and scratched the back of his head, opting to look at the fireplace instead of directly at her. “You know, Curly…he’s been through a lot. Kirkwall was a living hell. He’s seen the worst of people, _definitely_ seen the worst of mages. But he’s a good guy. Works really hard not to let his past get in his way.”

Anya sighed. “I know, Varric. And that makes it…worse, somehow.”

“Lyrium?” he asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. 

_So he knows about that too_ , she thought. She nodded. 

“Fuck. He’s sure?” She nodded again, and he sighed. "It’s gonna be rough for him. He’s gonna need help, even if he doesn’t ask for it. Not his style to ask.”

The worry on Varric’s face made everything so much more real. Varric had mentioned before that he had known Cullen in Kirkwall. They had been there during the worst of it, but Varric had never spoken to her about it in any specifics. She knew that Varric had kept an eye on Cullen since joining the Inquisition, even if he would never outwardly admit that he cared about the Commander’s wellbeing. He always invited Cullen to play Wicked Grace with them, no matter how many times he declined. She’d watched him lose horribly to Dorian in chess, and he’d told Dorian that if he wanted an actual challenge that he should ask Curly. She had later seen Dorian playing with Cullen on occasion. She was even more relieved that Varric had decided to not yet return to Kirkwall. He knew Cullen the best of anyone who would be traveling with them; they could all get through this together.

“I owe him, Varric. He’ll be taking lyrium to keep me out of the Circle. You know I will do whatever I can to help him.”

He turned to her and gave her a small smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I know you will.”

Anya left Varric and tried to put their conversation out of her head for now. If she thought too long about the situation with Cullen, she would get lost in her thoughts again. She decided to stay clear of Dorian and Bull for the day; she could not risk another conversation about everything Cullen was risking to help her and the Inquisition. She stopped by the stables and helped ensure that all five horses would be ready for their departure. In the kitchens, she asked them to add a few cakes to their packs, but the cook was already baking some at Bull’s request. Her next stop was the Inquisition’s cellar, which she browsed at her leisure. She helped herself to several of the best bottles she could find and a few more of the mediocre ones. _So kind of Josephine to provide me and Cullen with such generous wedding gifts_ , Anya thought to herself as she juggled the bottles on her way back to the kitchens to have them packed for their journey.

By the time she had finished the rest of her preparations, the sun had set and the last light of the day was fading. She would normally go to the tavern for conversation, Wicked Grace, or drinks, most often some combination of the three. Tonight, however, she was tired from the emotional toll the day had taken on her. She walked into her room ready to collapse into her bed when she saw the packages containing Cullen’s equipment. She groaned. She had no idea what his sleeping habits were, though he seemed the type to rise early in the morning. She thought about waiting to give him the armor and weapon until then, but she wanted him well-protected for their journey. She grabbed the pack and headed to his office on the other side of Skyhold. The night was already chilly, and she walked as quickly as she could while carrying an armful of heavy equipment. She shifted the weight to her hip as she knocked softly on Cullen’s door. A moment passed, and she was hoping that he had not already retired when she heard a gruff, “Enter!” barked from behind the door.

She opened the door and met Cullen’s gaze from behind his desk. Even in the limited candlelight of the room, she could see looked horrible. Dark circles hung from his eyes, and his hair was uncharacteristically disheveled, as though his hands had been in it constantly since they parted in the late morning. His look of annoyance gave way to complete surprise as he saw her. “Inquisitor,” he said as he quickly stood, acknowledging her presence.

“Anya, Cullen,” she sighed, crossing the few steps to his desk. She could just make out the light coloring on his cheeks from the light of the candle on his desk.

“Forgive me. Anya. I…had not expected to see you until morning.” He shifted uncomfortably. She wondered if he would look this uncomfortable when they were standing in the chantry to be married. She hastily put the thought out of her mind.

“I made this equipment for you. I wanted to give it to you before tomorrow. I apologize that I did not bring it sooner.” She placed the package on his desk, trying not to disturb the maps and papers already covering the surface. She recognized one as a map of the Hissing Wastes. Of course he was preparing for their journey the way a commander would: study maps and read reports. Anya knew he had been an excellent commander to their forces. She saw him overseeing training and sparring on many different occasions, giving criticism and praise appropriately. He often brought matters of morale to her attention at the war table, and he had always been truly thankful when she agreed to use resources to help their troops beyond the battlefield. Bull had told her that Cullen was well-respected by their troops, and it was easy to see why. 

She watched him as he pulled back the leather wrapping on his new armor. His lips parted slightly as he stared at it, but he said nothing. Anya suddenly worried that she had offended him. Perhaps he had his own quirks about what he liked for his armor and weapons or was offended that she did not think his current equipment was sufficient. She rushed to minimize the damage. “Of course, you can wear whatever you want. I just…I thought that since you had not been in the field much recently, and we’ve killed several dragons so we had plenty of raw materials, and now that you will be traveling with us, I thought you might need something new. But if it does not suit you, you certainly do not-“

“This is dragon bone?” he asked, running his hands carefully over the breastplate, inspecting it thoroughly.

“Yes. With stormheart.” She physically bit her lip to keep from saying more.

“It is marvelous,” he said at last, his voice full of awe, appreciating the armor as only a trained fighter could. “You made this for me?” He looked at her inscrutably, and it was her turn to blush.

“I…I wanted you to have the best possible armor and weapons,” she paused, watching as he inspected the armor and shield before turning his attention to the sword. He held it confidently, turning it over in his hands. Anya watched him slowly swing the sword, testing its heft. 

Cullen placed the sword carefully back to his desk. It was clear that he was fascinated by what she had given him, but he looked at it rather grimly. “Thank you, but you should not have gone to the trouble of crafting me equipment. I would be happy to use whatever equipment was already available.”

Maker help her…he could not even accept a new set of armor when leaving on a mission. “I mean, if there is something else you would rather bring, I won’t be offended. We have plenty of swords…well, you obviously already have a sword. But, if the armor doesn’t fit or it isn’t what you’re used to, you can-“

“Inqu-…Anya. Thank you. I would be honored to use them.”

She could not meet his gaze. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. “I cannot tell you how much I appreciate what you are doing for me.” She bid him a good night without looking back to him.


	5. Chapter 5

The path through the Frostbacks was clear of snow, and the five horses made good time through the switchbacks to the mountain pass. The lingering ice and snow around them slowly gave way to granite outcroppings rising up through rolling hills of lush green grass. The trip was uneventful, now that the mage-Templar situation was largely resolved and there were no rifts spewing forth demons in the area. Anya was perhaps more quiet than usual, but Dorian happily chatted with Bull and Cullen as Varric chimed in with a story or sarcastic remark at regular intervals. The road along Lake Calenhad was blissfully peaceful, save for the sound of waves lapping at the shore and the wind in the trees. 

They made it to Redcliffe just before nightfall and made their way to the Gull and Lantern, taking the last three rooms available. Bull and Dorian quickly disappeared to their shared room. Cullen offered to room with Varric for the evening, leaving Anya a room for herself. Varric went upstairs to settle in, leaving Cullen and Anya standing awkwardly together in the downstairs tavern. They were beginning to attract the attention of some of the other patrons, so when Cullen asked her if she wanted to discuss their plan for tomorrow, she suggested going up to her room. 

Cullen assumed his familiar war table demeanor as they went over the details. Mother Eglantine would hopefully be in the chantry and available for their vows tomorrow. Cullen was unsure exactly where Harrith was in town, but he accepted the task of finding the man. With any luck, their business would be concluded tomorrow, and they could leave Redcliffe for the Hissing Wastes. Once Cullen finished discussing their strategy, he seemed lost for words, shifting slightly, and Anya wondered how she had thought of a million questions for him yesterday but could now think of only one.

“The lyrium?” she asked quietly.

Cullen gave her a faint nod. “Once I am sure that Knight-Commander Harrith is somewhere in town, I will take it. I hope to…only use the one vial.” His eyes looked anywhere but at Anya. She wondered if he hated her; if their roles had been reversed, she was sure that she would hate him. 

“Couldn’t you wait until we find him?” she asked, her voice more pleading than she had intended. 

“I do not want to give the impression that I have been shirking my Templar duties.” He tried to be glib but failed. “I truly…do not know what my reaction will be to taking lyrium again. I had hoped to hide it from the Knight-Commander.”

“Will you be alright?” she asked, brows knitted in concern, searching his face for a truthful answer.

He gave her a forced smile that may have meant to be reassuring, but only increased her worry. “I hope to be. I will only take enough to convince the Knight-Commander I am still taking it regularly. The effects should not completely wear off for a week or so.”

“Then what?” She needed to know. Needed to know exactly what he was facing to save her.

He sighed and ran one hand absently through his hair. “I will manage my symptoms. I have succeeded in doing so before, and…I would prefer not to discuss it tonight.”

Anya knew then that it would be bad, perhaps worse than she could imagine. She had heard that lyrium withdrawal could be lethal, but she did not know specifics. There had to be something she could do. The answer came to her after few moments. “Do not take the lyrium until the last possible moment.”

“Is this an order?” 

“Does it need to be?” Her voice was gentle, but she was prepared to pull rank for this.

Cullen rubbed his forehead. “If the Knight-Commander doesn’t believe I’m taking lyrium-“

“Then what? What will he do?” she pressed. “Refuse to marry us?”

“Yes. And you would be remanded to the Circle!” He was close to shouting. He lowered his voice but spoke no less forcefully. “We cannot have everything we have built in the Inquisition destroyed. We cannot have you taken to the Circle.”

She rubbed her knuckles against her lip as she thought, mentally playing out the scenario. “Give me the lyrium.”

She said it much more like an order than she had intended, and she rushed to clarify her idea as it developed. “What I mean…What if I hold it? And you find Harrith, and then you say that…you gave it to me…as a sign of trust!” She couldn’t read Cullen’s face, so she continued forming the plan aloud. “Because we're getting married, and you want me to trust you, me being a mage and all. And then maybe if he sees how much I trust you, he won’t make you take it at all…” She faltered at last.

The silence dragged on for too long. Finally, Cullen asked her to give him a moment, and he left the room. Anya sighed. He’d wanted to take the lyrium when he could hide any side effects, and she had basically forbidden him to do so. She had said the wrong thing. Again. If Leliana were here, she would scold her, yet again, for not holding her tongue before deciding what she would say. But, if she waited for all her thoughts to fully form before she spoke, she was accused of being inattentive or daydreaming. She sat down hard on her bed, which sagged uncomfortably.

Cullen startled her a few minutes later with a brief knock before entering her room. As she stood, he extended a small wooden box to her. She opened it and saw a single bottle wrapped in leather.

“As a sign of trust,” he smiled. His eyes were warm with gratitude and his face lit softly by the light of the lantern in the room. He looked nothing like the Commander who advised her at the war table. He looked…oh Maker, her stomach clinched and her body was suddenly hyperaware of everything.

She swallowed, finding she could barely speak above a whisper. “Thank you.”

“I believe it is I who should be thanking you. Truly.”

Anya stammered something about it not being a “thankful competition,” and he actually chuckled, even though she knew it was perhaps the stupidest thing to ever be said. 

“I suppose I should get some sleep. Hopefully Varric does not snore,” he said with a small smirk as he bid her a good night. The moment the door closed, she flopped on the bed with an audible groan. What was wrong with her? She told herself that it would be better once they had this wedding business behind them and were on the road. Just nerves. A perfectly normal reaction to marrying the commander of her forces. Perfectly normal.


	6. Chapter 6

Anya slept fitfully due to a combination of stress and a lumpy, straw-filled mattress. A knock on her door eventually woke her, and Anya automatically rolled out of bed still dressed in yesterday’s robes, not yet noticing that she smelled faintly of horse and the mustiness of an inn’s bed. She opened the door to find Cullen, hair perfectly combed and smelling not at all like horse in the new armor she had made for him. She ran her hands though her hair, attempting nonchalance, but internally horrified at the innumerable different directions that she could feel her hair had taken while she slept, and she desperately hoped that Cullen had not noticed the piece of straw that she tried to discreetly drop to the floor. Cullen thankfully did not mention any of this, though he appeared to fight his own amusement at her appearance. He had already been to see Mother Eglantine and Knight-Commander Harrith. They would need to meet with the ranking Templar before going to the chantry. Cullen had arranged for him to meet them in the inn within the hour. Varric, Dorian, and Bull would be meeting them at the Chantry as witnesses shortly afterward.

Anya blinked, wondering how long he had been awake, and thanked him lamely as he left her to her preparations. She caught a whiff of her own stench as she closed the door and groaned. She undressed and washed herself using the water in the small basin provided in the corner of her room. As she rinsed her hair, she found more straw and cursed under her breath. She realized the room had no mirror, so she dried her hair with a warming spell and hoped for the best. She already missed the bronze soaking tub she used at Skyhold, but she rubbed some scented oil on her skin as a last ditch effort to avoid the stink of travel. She pulled her new outfit from her pack and dressed, trying not to think about how she would be married in little less than an hour, though her thoughts kept returning to the wedding. She had no idea what the ceremony would include, but she would not return to the Circle. She could and would lie to avoiding losing her freedom. Her path was clear. This would be worth it.

Anya heard footsteps and a knock outside her door. She let Cullen into her room, and he smiled at her. “You look much more prepared for the day.”

“You could have told me I had straw in my hair,” she retorted.

“I do not recall seeing any such thing,” he said with feigned ignorance, though all levity immediately disappeared. “Are you prepared to meet with the Knight-Commander? He should be arriving soon.”

Her eyes flicked to the lyrium box she had left on her bed. She wasn’t ready, not for this. She nodded anyway.

“There was something else…” He had a small bundle in his hands, which he extended out to her. “I admit that I have no experience in practical gifts for a mage,” he said as she unwrapped the gift. “So I decided on something impractical.”

Anya held up the silver chain, from which hung a beautiful malachite pendant. The stone was shaped into a small teardrop encased in intricate silver filigree. Delicate black veins swirled through the green stone. It was striking similar to one she had found in Emprise du Lion long months ago. She had agonized about keeping it but ultimately sold it to Bonny Sims in Skyhold to finance new equipment. It occurred to her to object to the gift, but his eyes were so earnest and the necklace being precisely what she would have chosen for herself, she offered no resistance. “Cullen, it is beautiful. Thank you,” she said as she slipped the chain over her head.

He smiled softly. “You like it? Truly?” She nodded and returned his smile. He looked much younger and gentler. She realized she didn’t even know how old he was. Before she could even think to ask, he had excused himself to await the Knight-Commander.

Knight-Commander Harrith was older than Anya expected, with his grey hair cut short. Age had softened the hard angles of his face, and he warmly greeted her. “Inquisitor.” He shook her hand firmly. “It is an honor to meet you.” She noticed his eyes focused on left hand.

“And you as well, Knight-Commander. Thank you for meeting us on such short notice.” She held out her hand. “Would you like to see the Mark?” It wouldn’t be the first time she had used the now-faded but ever-present mark on her hand to convince someone she was worth helping.

“May I?” He held her hand gently as he examined the Mark. “By the Maker…Remarkable. You attended the Conclave on behalf of the the Circle at Ostwick, correct?” She nodded as he released her hand and continued. “You are quite famous in Redcliffe for the actions you took against the Teviniter magister. That you saved this town and held Grand Enchanter Fiona responsible for her actions is not soon forgotten,” he said pointedly. “I commend you for making the right choice under difficult circumstances.”

Ousting Alexius from Redcliffe Castle had been an easy decision, given his alliance with Corypheus and the fate of Thedas she glimpsed if she were to fail. Fiona had been another matter. She had wanted freedom for her people as much as Anya did, and Anya sympathized. But she had also seen the bodies of the refugees who lost their lives fleeing Redcliffe and the suffering of those that survived when they were forced to flee their homes. Dorian had once told her that Alexius had become what people in Fereldan imagined when they heard of Tevinter mages, but Dorian had hoped to show that his homeland had more to offer than power-crazed magisters. Anya had similar feelings about Fiona.

Harrith’s gaze was direct, and Anya fought to not break eye contact. “I have already discussed the current situation with Knight-Captain Rutherford. I hope that the reopening of the Circles is done smoothly, though I have doubts. We’ve yet to hear specifics of the rumored reforms that will be instituted. But your marriage to Knight-Captain Rutherford will be very good for Thedas, and an example of Templar-mage cooperation, as it were. I am happy to play a part, no matter how small.” He straightened himself, still focused on Anya. “Now, a few formalities. You will not participate in any rituals or perform any spells that utilize blood magic or summon demons.”

She nodded, even though he had not asked a question. When he continued watching her. “Yes, ser,” she confirmed aloud.

“And you will not impede Knight-Captain Rutherford in his sworn duties, even as they apply to you?” After her affirmation, he turned to Cullen. “Knight-Captain Rutherford, you remain true to your vows as a Templar?”

Cullen stood as formally as his address. “Yes, Knight-Commander.”

“And you agree to uphold your vows as a Templar, including as they will apply to your wife?”

“Yes, Knight-Commander.”

The elder man nodded. “Excellent. Finally, just a quick test of fitness for duty. A spell purge should suffice.”

Anya stilled. _No._

“Yes, Knight-Commander. If you will allow me a dose of lyrium…”

_No no no no no no._ It had never occurred to Anya that Cullen would need to use his Templar abilities _on her._ And that it would be a spell purge…she couldn’t breathe. Her heart was pounding in her head. She needed to run. Needed to fight. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave. She started trembling.

“Anya?” Cullen was suddenly next to her, worry evident on his face. 

“My dear, are you alright?” Harrith asked with marked concern.

She gripped her hands into fists, fighting her loss of control. She could feel the sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. Anya knew she looked awful; she could see it in both of their faces. She closed her eyes. 

She vaguely heard Cullen ask the Knight-Commander to get her some wine. Cullen was kneeling in front of her now. “Anya, talk to me.” She opened her eyes and saw his brow knitted in concern.

“Sorry,” was all she could muster. She closed her eyes again. She felt like she was going to pass out. She gripped the bed and focused on maintaining consciousness.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Cullen assured her. “What do you need?”

She shook her head. She had too much to say and not the capacity to say it.

“This has happened before?”

She nodded. She forced herself to breathe though it felt like her lungs were failing. Harrith returned with wine, and when she could, she took the smallest sip she could without spilling it. Harrith asked Cullen quietly if she had experienced this before, and he confidently assured the Knight-Commander that it had.

“Is there anything else she requires?” Harrith asked.

“Please…” Anya forced her voice to work as she pleaded with Harrith. “Please don’t make him perform a s-spell purge.” Her throat hitched at the last words. 

He met her eyes and frowned for a few moments. Her eyes begged him with the words her mouth could not. Harrith said nothing, but he rose to grab the cloth from her basin and handed it to her. “A moment, Rutherford.” He said as he rose to leave the room.

Cullen followed, leaving Anya alone. Anya wiped the sweat from her face, sure that she had doomed herself. Harrith had seen how she reacted when faced with only the most basic of Templar abilities. There is no way he would believe that she was in love with a templar. She would be remanded to the Circle, she would fail the Inquisition, and it would be her own fault.

She felt incredibly tired, all her energy expended. Her breathing slowed, and she was unaware of how much time had passed since Harrith and Cullen left. Surely, they were working out how to return her to the Circle. She hoped that their deception would not impact Cullen. Her finger traced the pendant around her neck. She could claim that she had ordered him to do it. She had authority within the Inquisition to order the commander of her forces. He was simply following orders; the blame would lie with her.

When the men eventually returned to the room, Cullen’s face was hard. He did not look at her, but Harrith confirmed Anya was feeling better. Before Anya could own their deception, the Knight-Commander spoke decisively. “I have spoken with Commander Rutherford. I am convinced that he encompasses all the qualities a templar should possess, and he has assured me that he will continue to act in accordance with the vows required of the Templar Order. As such, I require no further demonstration of his skills.” The declaration was decidedly formal, but his tone was gentle. “I give my consent as a Knight-Commander of the Templar Order for your marriage.”

Anya exhaled and thanked him. She assured him that she would be ready to head to the chantry soon, mentally ignoring her exhaustion to get on with Inquisition business. It was a feeling to which she had grown accustomed. Harrith excused himself, agreeing to meet them at the chantry, leaving Cullen and Anya alone. Neither spoke for a time until she noticed the lyrium box still latched at the foot of her bed. 

“You didn’t take the lyrium?” He shook his head in response. _The first time something good has come from this_ , she thought. “Thank the Maker for that.”

“You don’t have to do this, Anya.”

She sighed. “Neither do you.” _But do we really have a choice?_ After receiving no argument nor sensing any hesitation from Cullen, she stood slowly, took a breath, and smoothed her robes. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Panic attacks are neither a conscious choice nor indicative of weakness. No one should ever feel shame about a panic attack, though I know this is easier said than done. It is a very exposed and exhausting time. Having to experience all this and then get on with life, whether that be going to work or saving the world, isn’t always possible but can be necessary, which is why Anya forces herself to continue on with the day. From personal experience, watching someone you love experience panic attacks is a very helpless feeling, and I wrote Cullen from that perspective. 
> 
> Mild spoilers: Details about Anya’s past will be discussed in a later chapter, but please be assured there will be nothing sexually violent or overly graphic that would require anything beyond the current rating. Her experience at the Ostwick Circle and her very real fear is the reason she had not interacted with Cullen beyond the war table and other specially Inquisition business prior to this story. She had only spoken to him about stopping lyrium and did not approach him for any other general conversations. Cullen’s discussion with Harrith will also be discussed later, and no, calling him Commander Rutherford before Harrith left for the chantry was not a typo. All of his words were chosen vary carefully. The comments section of chapter 5 has a bit about Harrith that wasn’t included because Anya doesn’t know this information, and I am writing from her perspective.


	7. Chapter 7

Once Anya had twice assured Cullen that she was sufficiently recovered to walk to the chantry, they left the Gull and Lantern. Truthfully, Anya was spent and in no mood to discuss what had happened. She was thankful that they walked to the chantry in a companionable silence that she felt no desire to fill with conversation. Whether it was exhaustion or something else, she did not know.

He held the door to the chantry for her and followed her inside. The interior was dimly lit with candles, but the stained glass windows depicting the life of Andraste shone brilliantly at the opposite end of the building. The last time Anya was here was when she had met Dorian while a rift spewed demons into the nave. It appeared the building had recovered from the minor destruction they had caused in the ensuing battle. It occurred to her to not mention this fact to the Revered Mother. 

Their companions were awaiting them inside the door to the chantry, and, for his part, Dorian showed no outward uneasiness. “And here they arrive! Ah, so you did find something appropriate to wear after all. All of Josephine worries came to nothing,” Dorian smiled. It was unclear if he was addressing Anya or Cullen.

“How’s everyone feeling? Ready to get married?” Varric asked in a practiced casual tone. “I think your Knight-Commander is already back with the Revered Mother.”

“Does she know we will have witnesses besides the Harrith?” Anya asked Cullen softly as they made their way toward the Revered Mother’s office.

“She did not seem particularly interested in the details of our situation when I spoke to her earlier. I believe she will only require our presence and our consent. Though,” he reached into his pocket, pulling out two rings. “Josephine had these made before we left Skyhold. The chantry doesn’t require them, but they would be prudent given our circumstances.” They were matching polished gold bands. Instead of a traditional inscription, the interior of each was emblazoned with the symbol of the Inquisition, a sunburst eye pierced by a sword. _In case we forget why we are doing this_ , Anya thought.

Cullen handed her one of the rings, which she automatically slid on her finger. It was so loose that she almost dropped it. “I think this one must be yours.”

Cullen suppressed a chuckle. “We must exchange them during the ceremony. We each hold the other’s ring.”

Her brain was still a little fuzzy, and Anya bit her lip to hide her embarrassment. “Right…that makes sense. I’ve never actually been to a wedding. Well, maybe when I was younger, but I don’t remember.”

“Ah, I see. The Revered Mother appeared inclined to keep this is short as possible, so I am not sure how much will be done. Typically, there are readings from the Chant of Light, blessings read by family members, and vows by the couple and exchange of rings, obviously. And then…” Cullen’s voice lowered. “The couple customarily kisses at the end.”

Right. Kissing. She’d been a teenager in the Circle, so Anya had played enough kissing games. There was only so much rune study that could be done to occupy time in the dormitories. She had once kissed a boy who seemed to always smelled vaguely like rotten ham. She had to admit that Cullen was much more handsome than Bron…wait, was it Bran? His name failed her. But yes, Cullen was much more handsome and possessed both kissable and unhammy qualities. She shrugged. “Is that a problem?”

Cullen blushed. Did templars not spin empty lyrium bottles and kiss their fellow recruits in their spare time? Anya had heard that some of them took chastity vows, and she hoped he wasn’t one of them. The thought that he would appear to break that vow for her was unsettling.

“I…have no objection if you do not.”

Anya began to relax, and she teased him in an effort to relieve the remaining tension. “As long as you don’t try to stick your tongue down my throat in front of the reverend mother.”

“I shall be as decorous as possible, as long as you do the same,” he smiled in retort. And Maker, the look on his face. Anya could feel her stomach flip, and it was her turn to blush. As she looked away from him, her eyes landed on Dorian at the back of the chantry, and he made an impatient shooing motion at her.

“Right, no tongues.”

Cullen knocked on the door to the sacristy, and they were bidden to enter. Mother Eglantine greeted them. “Inquisitor, it is very good to see you again. Please accept my felicitations, which I have already offered to your commander.” 

Anya thanked her. She remembered the woman from when she had dealt with Alexius’ occupation of Redcliffe. She had told Anya that she believed that mages deserved the right to earn their freedom. It appeared that the woman maintained that belief, even after everything that happened in Redcliffe. The Revered Mother pointedly continued. “You have done much good in the name of the Maker across Thedas, by the side of the Divine herself. I would see those good works continue,” she said with finality, and Anya knew that nothing more of their situation would be discussed. “Are you both prepared?” Anya and Cullen nodded.

“If all is settled…” Harrith looked at Anya, who nodded again, “then I will join your other witnesses.”

The Revered Mother did not wait for Harrith to leave before she began her questions. She took down their middle names and noted their formal titles. “Now, you will be forgoing readings and prayers from loved ones, yes? Rings?” She selected a book from her bookshelf as she spoke, giving them only cursory glances for confirmation. She directed them to return to the sanctuary, where Dorian, The Iron Bull, Varric, and Knight-Commander Harrith were waiting.

Mother Eglantine quickly assumed her place with her back to the bright stained-glass windows depicting the life of Andrate. Cullen stood to the right of Anya, and the rest of the men formed a loose semi-circle around them. The revered mother’s eyes glanced over the party but gave no external expression of her opinion of their presence, even if her eyes lingered infinitesimally on Dorian. She began the ceremony without pretense.

“May any who know of a reason that these two before me should not be joined in the eyes of the Maker, speak now.” She did not pause. “In the name of the Maker, who brought us into this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light,* I ask you, Knight-Captain Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Forces of the Inquisition, and Anya Estelle Trevelyan, Inquisitor and Herald of the Most Beloved Andraste, to say aloud your pledge to the other. The rings you hold will be the outward symbol of your pledge.” She glanced at Cullen’s hand, and he turned to Anya and took her left hand in his. She looked up at him saw that he was staring at her, watching every movement of her face. His eyes were gentle, and if she had tried, she could have imagined that he loved her. 

Cullen repeated the traditional vows that Revered Mother Eglantine quietly spoke. “I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”** He slid the ring on her finger. Anya’s breath hitched. He was much better at pretending than she was.

“I swear unto the Maker and the Holy Andraste to love this man the rest of my days.” She found the lie came easily as she slid the ring onto Cullen’s offered hand. 

“By your pledges, you are bound to each other in the eyes of the Maker. Let no one tear asunder what the Maker has joined together. And now, you may celebrate your union.”

Anya was prepared for a terse peck, but Cullen surprised her. His kiss was sure and gentle, lingering a moment on her lips. She was breathless as he pulled away from her, his gaze holding her rapt for another moment. But there were official papers to sign in triplicate, and both Knight-Commander Harrith and Revered Mother Eglantine wished them well as she handed Anya a very formal marriage document, now signed by a Templar Knight-Commander, a Chantry Mother, the Inquisitor and the commander of the her forces, with a Tal-Vashoth Qunari, a Tevinter altus, and a famous dwarven author listed as witnesses. 

“Congratulations, the two of you,” Dorian offered as they walked back toward the inn. "You Southerners truly cut to the chase in your ceremonies.” 

“I believe the Revered Mother made some adjustments to the ceremony on our behalf,” Cullen noted.

“What? Those things usually last longer?” Bull asked. 

“Oh, yes. I once attended a wedding in Minrathous that lasted nearly three hours, though the majority of the time was spent listing the bloodlines of the couple. Both were magisters. Their bloodlines were _frightfully_ important,” Dorian recalled.

“Hours?! I’ve never been to an Andrastian wedding that lasted longer than forty minutes, and that was because the groom fainted part way through,” Varric chuckled. “The bride’s father demanded that the ceremony continue and argued with the Revered Mother until the guy regained consciousness.”

Varric and Dorian shared wedding stories, and Iron Bull listened in amusement as they walked in front of Anya and Cullen down the path. Several sets of villagers stopped and spoke in hushed whispers as they passed. Anya tried to ignore the attention, but she was ready to leave Redcliffe before word of their nuptials had spread. She ran her thumb along her ring, trying to get accustomed to the weight of it. She was married. She felt no different, save for the ring on her finger. She wondered if Cullen felt the same; he seemed to be fidgeting with his ring as well. Since first meeting him in Haven, she had noticed that he often had a hard look on his face, and she assumed him to be generally . She wondered now if she had been wrong about him. At the war table, the timbre of his voice often belied his emotions, which were admittedly not always angry. Whether it was grateful for improving the quality of their army’s meals or exasperation at bringing a box full of body parts to Skyhold to be judged of its crimes, he was straightforward in his speech. Anya suddenly thought of the way he looked at her in the chantry and the way he had kissed her. As she watched him fetch their horses, she found herself wishing, yet again, that the green mark on her hand hadn’t made her life so complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The beginning of the ceremony after the call for objections is from the City Elf origin story in DA: Origins and belongs to Bioware.
> 
> **Cullen’s vows come from the Trespasser DLC and belong to Bioware.
> 
> Yes, I threw that quest name in there. They were in Redcliffe; I had to!


	8. Chapter 8

The group headed back out through the Hinterlands along the banks of Lake Calenhad. The road was fairly quiet, save for a few other groups of passing travelers. They encountered only one small pack of wolves that was easily frightened away from a distance with with well-placed fireball, much to Bull’s chagrin. When they arrived at the Inquisition camp just south of the road to Orlais, Anya and Cullen were met with courteous congratulations from all the scouts. Anya recognized Ritts and a few other scouts in the camp. Leliana had naturally sent word of their wedding and expected arrival, so dinner and tents were waiting for them. Anya was exhausted and wanted nothing more to sleep, but she showed her gratitude to their agents by eating and making polite conversation. As soon as she had finished eating, she excused herself to head to her tent.

“I believe that’s your cue, Curly,” Varric said as he took a drink from his cup.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Good night, everyone.” Anya had forgotten he would have to join her; she hadn’t even seen if he had finished his stew. She turned to see him following her to _their_ tent, which she now noticed was larger and set more apart from the others than usual.

“Go easy on him, Boss,” Bull called to her. She glared at him. “Or don’t,” he smiled. “Whatever works for you.”

Anya heard the good-natured chorus of whistles and hollers coming from the rest of the scouts as the tent flap closed behind Cullen. “Maker’s breath.” he huffed. “I expected Leliana’s people to be a bit more _discreet_.” He paused. “What’s all this?”

“This,” Anya gestured, “is likely Ritts’ attempt at ensuring our first night as a married couple is as romantic as possible in the middle of the wilderness.” Soft, red petals from the interior of embrium flowers were scattered over two of the familiar wool and straw mattresses, which had been pushed together. Candles were lit in a semi-circle around the pillows, and a bottle of wine and two cups sat on the table on the opposite side of the tent. Anya sighed, remembering the picnic she had interrupted when Ritts had gone missing. “The woman has a bit of a romantic streak.”

Cullen was muttering something, but Anya only had eyes for the wool-stuffed pillow. She blew out the candles on the left side and removed her battlemage coat, draping it over one of the two chairs at the table opposite the makeshift bed. Cullen was clanging about, so she assumed he was removing his armor. Anya pushed the extinguished candles aside with her foot and moved her futon, leaving about a foot between them. She collapsed onto her pillow.

“Anya,” Cullen started, trying to finish removing his armor. “There is something we need to discuss.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” she asked, her eyes already closed.

Cullen had moved closer to the bed and lowered his voice. “I promised Knight-Commander Harrith that I would ensure your safety.”

“Okay.” She was nearly asleep.

“I need to know what happened this morning.”

Anya sighed. “Tomorrow, Cullen.” She kept her eyes closed as she heard him extinguish the rest of the candles and lie down. She wanted only to sleep, but now she could only think of having to talk to Cullen tomorrow. Faded memories flashed and dimmed, growing brighter with each flare until she remembered details that she had struggled to forget. She didn’t know how long she lied there, now fighting the sleep she so desperately needed. She rolled over to face Cullen. She could only just make out his form in the sliver of firelight that seeped through the bottom of the tent. “Are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes.” She could see him turn toward her.

 _Just get this over with and go to sleep_ , she thought as she sat up, but she had no idea where to start. With the failed Harrowing that nearly took down her Circle, all because a templar was in love with a mage? That the templars that came in later to fill the ranks were young and obviously inexperienced? With First Enchanter Gewecke then counseling Anya and all mages to avoid interacting with templars unless absolutely necessary? That the night before exams the library was open late and curfew should have been extended, like it always was? _Just get it done and go to sleep_ , she told herself.

She whispered as quietly as she could, not wanting anyone else in camp to overhear. She had been the last to leave the library late one night studying for exams, and she was almost to her dormitory when she encountered a templar on patrol. Any other templar, and she would have gone on to bed and passed her exams easily the next morning. Knight Maxson had barely concealed his distain for mages in the month he had been at the Circle. When he saw her out after curfew, he sneered gleefully. She tried to explain that she was studying and that she was well within the rules, but it hadn’t mattered. He grabbed her arm and pushed her against the wall. 

She was already terrified of him by reputation, and she reflexively cast a weak barrier on herself. He cast a spell purge on her immediately and pulled her head back by her braid as he pressed his sword against her neck. He told her how worthless she was, how she was an abomination waiting to happen as she could feel blood trickling down her neck. She hadn’t the strength to fight an armored templar without her magic, and she had been sure he was going to kill her.

“He probably would have killed me, but two other templars pulled him off me. He claimed that I had attacked him, that I was an abomination. One of them told me to go to bed as they took him away.” She eventually made her way to bed, stopping the bleeding as best she could with her magic. She tried to find the first enchanter or a senior enchanter in the morning, but she couldn’t find anyone. She went to her exams and did horribly, barely able to concentrate and certainly not capable of explaining the intricacies of rune interaction. She found a senior enchanter later, but by then, it seemed the templars had already dealt with everything. Maxson had been removed from the Tower, and the other templars were commended for dealing with him. She was told that it was important that the fragile relationship with the templars was not disrupted unnecessarily, and with Knight Maxson being gone, there was no risk. She could put it behind her and be stronger for it.

“I didn’t realize then that the templars probably hadn’t told everything, or maybe Senior Enchanter Rothchild was ready to put the whole thing behind him…He didn’t ask me any questions other than if I was alright, and I just nodded and was dismissed. I should have gone to the healer for the scar, but I just…couldn’t. I still have the small scar on my jaw. My hair was long then, so I could hide it…No one in the Circle ever asked about it.”

“You never told anyone?” Cullen asked quietly.

“I didn’t think it would change anything,” she replied with a sigh. “I should have. I don’t know…Sometimes it all felt like a dream? Or that it had all happened to someone else. I had nightmares, but then they would fade when I woke up and if I didn’t look at my scar, sometimes I could almost forget. Then, when the spell purge was cast for my Harrowing, it all came back.” The spell purge was meant to cleanse any fortifying magic, but it also triggered all her memories of terror and helplessness just as she was thrust into the Fade. That had been the first time she had one of her attacks. Demons had been drawn to her in that state, and she was still surprised to this day that she survived. 

“The only other time it happened, other than today” _Maker was that just today?_ she thought, “was not long after I joined the Inquisition. I was with Cassandra, Sera, and Solas, and we were ambushed by templars on our way to Redcliffe. They purged my barrier, and I panicked. Sera and Cassandra made sure I was okay. Cassandra made me tell her what happened…which is probably why we’re in this situation,” she sighed. Cassandra had never mentioned it again, but Anya noticed that she would discreetly check on Anya after some battles, especially if they battled templars. Cassandra had later been adamant that Cullen not resume taking lyrium to serve the Inquisition, though Anya was fairly certain the two were unrelated. She wished she had written to Divine Victoria before they left Skyhold.

The dark between them was quiet until Cullen eventually spoke. “You were failed by the templars in your Circle. That man should never have been a templar,” he hissed, his anger more comforting than Anya expected. “You did nothing wrong, and he should never have laid a hand on you. That the other templars could show no regard for your safety…” He took a breath and was silent for a moment. “They were supposed to protect you. You deserve to be protected…I am so sorry, Anya.” His voice was thick with emotion.

Anya didn’t expect the tears that pricked at her eyes. Cole had once told her after they arrived in Skyhold when she asked him about templars that some were mean, which she had already known, but that some were kind like Cullen. At the time, she had still been wary of templars and avoided any interactions with them beyond what was required of her as Inquisitor. She had been willing to admit then that Cullen had never been cruel to her, even when she pursued the mages over the templars, but she had not been ready to accept that he was _kind_. 

But, here, alone with her in the dark, he was being genuinely kind. She had known, rationally, that what happened all those years ago wasn’t her fault, but she was surprised at the validation she felt when she heard him vilify his fellow templars. That he judged them to be in the wrong was a vindication she had not realized she needed. She took a deep, shaky breath, thanked him, and wished him a good night, falling asleep with her blanket pulled up around her face.

***  
She was alone in the tent when she awoke the next morning, something for which Anya thanked the Maker. Her eyes were gritty, and though she felt better mentally than she thought she should, she was grateful for the opportunity to get ready and dress in peace. When she finally left the tent, she saw Cullen in a deep discussion with one of the scouts. Anya watched him, thinking how different Commander Rutherford appeared to the Cullen who had been nothing but kind to her the past few days. Even his posture when talking to the scout projected authority, but he had made her feel safe last night. She tried to reconcile the two but gave up when she noticed Ritts approaching her, barely containing the smirk on her face.

“Did you sleep well, Inquisitor?”

“Yes, thank you, Ritts. I suppose I should thank you for the additions to our tent as well?”

“It was nothing, Inquisitor,” Ritts remarked, clearly proud of herself. “You missed breakfast. There are some rolls and cheese set aside for you.”

Cullen walked over to Anya as she helped herself to a cold breakfast. “Good morning.”

She nodded, her mouth too full of roll to respond.

He lowered his voice. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I had not considered-“

“It’s fine, Cullen. Really, I feel much better this morning,” she said, swallowing her breakfast. One of the scouts nearby snorted loudly then cleared his throat, obviously suppressing a chuckle.

Cullen scowled at the man. “Are you unwell, Scout?”

“No, ser. Perfectly well, ser.” The man took the hint and went anywhere else.

“I’ve been reviewing the latest scouting report from one of our agents in Val Royeaux,” Cullen continued to Anya. “It appears that some of the mages there have caught wind of the reinstatement of the Circles. There is at least one contingent of mages that are vocally opposing the move.”

“Not surprising. Is it going to be a problem?”

“Likely, yes. Some templars have already gathered in Val Royeaux, ready to address any potential uprisings. I think it would be best to avoid the area for now. It would be safer for you to avoid any heightened interactions for the time being.”

“Agreed. So, what? We follow the road north of The Dales instead?”

“Yes. A longer route to be sure, but it will hopefully avoid any issues stemming from the reopening Circles. We may need to avoid the Circle in Montsimmard if there are problems there, but we can divert along the shore of Lake Celestine if necessary.”

Anya was happy to let Cullen handle the route planning, as he went over the intricacies of their new route. Everything now being much more thoroughly planned than when Anya chose directions, they gathered the rest of their party. They were quiet for several minutes as they rode out of camp until Bull spoke.

“I’m gonna miss that ram bacon when we get to the Hissing Wastes. Nothing like hot, fried meat in the morning.”

“ _That_ ,” Dorian drawled, “was not bacon. That was grisly strips of barely edible meat. True bacon actually has _substance_.”

“You have to grab a handful and eat it that way. Plenty of substance.”

“So you’re the reason there was no bacon left for my breakfast,” Anya joked.

“No, the reason there was no bacon left was because you woke up over an hour after everyone ate,” Bull retorted.

Anya frowned. “I was tired.”

Dorian responded as if she had spoken to him. “Yes, a fact that was obvious to everyone when you abandoned your poor husband on your wedding night.”

“I did not abandon him!” Anya said, feeling her face grow hot. “I was tired. I wanted to sleep.”

“Yes, but not with him,” Bull mused.

“Hold a moment,” Anya said, slowing her horse as she turned it to face the men. She leaned forward on her saddle conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “You know that Cullen and I only married to keep me from returning to the Circle, yes? That we _did not_ have sex last night?”

Cullen looked like he wished for the Maker to open the earth below him and allow it to to swallow him whole, but Bull continued. “Yeah, we know, Boss. Red told us that we needed to make it believable. We just weren’t sure she told _you_.”

“So you think Leliana wanted you to shout at me to ‘Give it to Cullen hard!’ so the whole camp could hear?!” Anya hissed.

Bull smiled. “Pretty sure those weren’t my words, but if that’s what you took from it, good for you. Always knew you had it in you.”

Anya turned her horse to continue down the road in exasperation. Varric’s horse trotted to catch up to her own.

“Listen, if we hadn’t given you some shit, those scouts would’ve known something was off. No way they would’ve believed we would just let you two head to your bed without saying something. They’re scouts. It’s their job to notice shit like that.” 

Anya knew that Varric was right, but that didn’t make her any less annoyed with everyone, excepting Cullen. She’d nearly fainted in front of Harrith but still managed to not only get married, but then ride almost the entire length of Lake Calenhad, all in a single day. Of course, no one else knew that, and she was not in the mood for a round of Confessions on the Road, which Sera sometimes made them play, but only away from Cassandra and Solas. She’d learned her lesson after the first time to never involve either of them.

Cullen caught up to them. “I’m certain that the scouts were unconcerned about any deception. I’ve never had more scouts wish me a cheerful 'Good morning' in my life,” he said with exasperation.

“Look, every good storyteller knows that you have to toe that line between telling your audience everything and leaving it all to their imagination. I’m just saying you need to leave a little less to their imagination,” Varric said.

Anya sighed. “The scouts have plenty of imagination without us doing anything at all. One of them thought Cullen was apologizing to me for our wedding night.”

“Who…you mean…oh, Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed as he appeared to be warding off a headache by rubbing his temples.

Varric laughed. “Well, at least one of you knows what to do, intentional or not.”

Anya informed Varric about the additions Ritts had made to their tent, which further amused Varric. She told him and Cullen about how she had met Ritts, finding her on a romantic picnic with a mage that was interrupted by templars. Varric said that her skills were wasted as a scout, and if she could romance a mage in the middle of a war, she should have been one of Leliana’s agents. It had never occurred to Anya, and Cullen agreed to have make the recommendation to Leliana. They continued on without incident through Gherlen’s Pass, and they arrived at the Inquisition camp west of Halamshiral shortly before supper was ready. 

In the spirit of storytelling, Anya found one of the few bottles she packed from Skyhold. She had only been able to fit three in her pack, so she had been forced to leave the rest in her room for her return. She loudly announced that Josephine had sent her with wine in celebration of her and Cullen’s marriage. Varric gave her a wry smile as Dorian appraised her selected vintage.

“A limited vintage from Rive du lac,” he said appreciatively. “And here I thought that Josephine had promised to save the best bottles for me! She’s been holding back, I see. But it is an excellent wine for celebrating our illustrious Inquisitor and her dear commander. Anya, I don’t suppose you packed glasses?” At Anya’s suggestion that they just get cups from the camp, Dorian was aghast. “If you want to ruin the bouquet and destroy the finish, yes, please, let’s serve a wine from one of the best vineyards in Orlais in hammered tin cups.”

“I’ve watched you chase a chasind sack mead with a Fereldan ale,” Anya replied evenly. “Do you want the wine or not?”

“If you don’t stop spreading that story around, I will never be allowed back in Minrathous. And of course I want the wine.”

Cullen obtained the cups and a corkscrew that the scouts pretended was just lying around camp and never at all used. Varric raised his cup, “To Anya and Cullen. May you have many happy days ahead. Maker knows you earned them.” He smirked expectantly at Anya. 

She turned to Cullen and quirked her eyebrow, causing him to smile. “Well, if we must,” he whispered. She could feel the warmth of his kiss spread through her, his lips lingering again just a moment longer than she expected. Cheers and applause filled the camp, clearly flustering him as he rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes met hers as if he wanted to ask her something, but the moment passed as everyone clinked, or more appropriately, clanged, their cups. They all talked easily through supper, venison and root vegetables, which Anya felt was surprising good for a scout camp, especially with the wine. 

Varric excused himself after eating, and Anya found herself talking mostly to Cullen, who had chosen to sit beside her and remained there even after Varric left. Their conversation was stilted at first but flowed easily when talking about Inquisition business. Cullen was concerned about losing some of their soldiers to the Templars, and he spoke at length about their efforts to fill the gaps in their ranks. Anya had never heard him speak so much at once, and she felt comfortable asking questions about terms and locations about which she was unfamiliar. Though her comfort around the war table had increased massively since she joined the Inquisition, Anya often felt intimidated in the War Room. Her life in the Circle had kept her sheltered from information that was assumed to be general knowledge, so she usually resorted to hiding her confusion from her advisors. Cullen was patient with her questions without any hint of condescension, and Anya surprised herself by actually enjoying their conversation, which she assured herself was due to the wine. She also blamed the wine on the number of times she caught herself staring at Cullen’s face and thinking that her husband was actually very attractive. It was during one of these moments that Cullen smiled and told her that it appeared they had been left alone. Anya hadn’t seen Bull and Dorian leave, but they were indeed gone. Cullen suggested they retire, and she followed him to their tent, admiring her view from behind him once. Maybe twice.

The tent was smaller than the one they used the night before, so their two mats, a chest, and a lantern left little room to move away from each other as they changed. It took more willpower than she would admit to herself to not _accidentally_ turn enough to see Cullen. Her fingers ran over the necklace he gave her, the stone brushing across the exposed skin of her chest. She tried to think of anything, absolutely anything, other than the semi-naked man behind her. “Tell me about your family,” she blurted. 

Anya heard Cullen chuckle softly, as he finished dressing. He ensured she was dressed before he sat on his mat facing her. He told her of his family home in Honnleath, where he grew up with his siblings, an older sister, Mia, younger brother, Branson, and younger sister, Rosalie. His siblings had thankfully survived the Blight ten years ago and moved to South Reach. His eldest sister, Mia, was married and had two children, whom it appeared Cullen had not met. He sheepishly described his sister’s insistent letters to him, admitting he had only written her once since they left Haven. Despite this admission, he appeared to genuinely care for them, something that comforted Anya instead of summoning any jealousy over his continued contact his family. 

He already knew that she had been effectively disowned when she was taken to the Circle, something she had made peace with long ago. They talked more about their respective childhoods in Ferelden and the Free Marches, discovering they both had brothers who had a penchant for mischief. Anya laughed at Cullen’s retelling of a time after declared his desire to be a templar, Branson thought he needed practice catching apostates, so he brought a frog into the house, being the most magical and evasive animal he could find. He dropped the frog onto Mia, who screamed, and tripped over Rosalie trying to flee. There was so much commotion that they never found the frog, which became a joke in the family. Whenever anything went missing, it was blamed on the frog.

“How old were you?” Anya said, still chuckling.

“Let me see. Rosalie was small…two or three, so I would have been eight or nine.”

“You wanted to be a templar even then?”

“Oh yes. My siblings teased me about it, of course, but I went to the chantry in Honneleath every day to learn anything the templars would teach me. Thinking back on it, I’m sure my parents found me insufferable. They eventually sent me for training when I was thirteen.”

Anya smiled. “I bet you were a model trainee.”

Cullen gave a small smile. “I tried to be. I wanted to learn everything. I dedicated everything I was to my training. Those first few years were some of the best of my life.” His smile faltered. “There were many things that my training did not prepare me for.”

He had explained his reasonings for stopping lyrium months ago. She knew of his presence during the fall of the Circles in Ferelden and Kirkwall, that he had suffered torture and the loss of his comrades. Even in generalities, it was horrible; she felt no need to know the details. Something tore inside of her with the realization that his childhood dream had become his living nightmare. Cullen had spent years of his life training to protect mages who ultimately betrayed him, and yet he had agreed to marry her to protect the Inquisition. 

She began to absently twist the ring on her finger. “Does it bother you that I am a mage?” Anya asked softly.

“No,” he answered immediately and earnestly. “I…There was a time when it would have mattered, but leaving the Order and joining the Inquisition helped me in ways I never could have expected.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Does it bother you that I was a templar?”

“No,” she said surprising herself. “You know, you are nothing at all like I expected,” she said, smiling at him. When he returned her smile, her body rebelled against her. She abruptly bid him a good night before pretending to sleep, swearing to herself that she was never drinking red wine again until they returned to Skyhold and could comfortably lock herself alone in her room.

Anya opened her eyes to whispering in the darkness. There was only the faintest glow coming from outside the tent, indicating that the camp fire had burnt low. She focused on the noise and began to make out the words.

 _And the armies of Andraste raised their voices  
Singing a hymn of praise to the Maker. And feared no more,  
And Andraste went apart to seek the Maker’s wisdom  
For the battle to come._**

“Cullen?” she asked quietly.

“Anya…I’m sorry I woke you. Please, go back to sleep.”

“But why are you awake?” she asked, still groggy.

“Trouble sleeping. Please, go to sleep. I won’t wake you again.”

“Why can’t you sleep?” she asked, finally sitting up.

He was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I have trouble sleeping in confined spaces.”

Their tent was much smaller than the one yesterday and felt smaller still with the two of them inside it. “Did you sleep last night?” Anya asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Tolerably,” he mumbled.

“Okay, hold on.” Anya spun and left through the tent flap as Cullen hissed her name. She found the scout on watch duty and begin to ramble about needing another tent, and how embarrassing it was for her to have accidentally hit her husband in the face with her elbow. The scout, seemingly horrified by the volume of words she was speaking to him about sleeping with the Commander, quickly found an unused tent and helped Anya set it up abutted to their existing tent. She returned to Cullen and announced more loudly than necessary her apology for flailing and hitting him in the face, though the scout had quickly retreated to the other side of camp, and Cullen could not see the exaggerated wink she gave him in the dark.

Cullen protested as she drug her mat toward the flap, but Anya ignored him. She bid him another good night, leaving the flap partially open behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **From Chant of Light: Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, which belongs to Bioware. 
> 
> Cullen is canonically afraid of enclosed spaces ( _World of Thedas Volume 2_ ) , which can be assumed is a result of his imprisonment at the hands of Uldred during the fall of the Circle in DA:Origins.
> 
> Head-canonically, Cullen has a distractingly fine ass. Or maybe that is canon?
> 
> ETA: I pulled the templar names from Fallout 4. Yeah, I don't side with the Brotherhood of Steel.


	9. Chapter 9

After she awoke, Cullen quietly thanked Anya for her deception regarding the tent the night before, and she assured him that no thanks were necessary. The day was dreary, the swollen clouds above threatening rain, so they headed out of camp as soon as everyone was ready. The weather held until just outside Verchiel, necessitating a stop at the inn. The rain continued, alternating drizzles and torrents, until Cullen eventually agreed that they would get no further tonight. They appeared to be the only travelers at the in, and the downstairs pub held only a few patrons, who preferred to be soaked and drinking than not drinking at all.

“So, who’s for a game of Wicked Grace?” Varric asked, a deck of cards appearing in his hand.

Everyone was in agreement, except Cullen, who at first politely, then pointedly, refused.

“Oh, come on, Curly. We can play for coppers and keep our clothes on this time.”

Anya’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

Varric ignored Cullen’s glare. “Ohhhh, that’s right,” he drawled. “You weren’t there the _only_ night we ever convinced Curly to play Wicked Grace. You must have been checking u[ on the horses or something.” Varric also ignored Anya’s glare.

“And what, every one was naked? How did I miss this?”

“Only those who were utterly hopeless at Wicked Grace shed any clothing. Alas, the skill that our dear commander has in chess does not to translate to cards,” Dorian said with mock concern.

“How badly did he lose?” Anya asked, her eyes alight.

“Very, very badly” Dorian confirmed.

“Which is why,” Cullen emphasized, “I have no desire to play again. I will simply watch or retire upstairs.” Varric agreed to spot him coppers, which he knew he would win back anyway, Dorian promised to never divulge the _particulars_ of Cullen’s previous defeat at Wicked Grace, and Anya begged him to play. He eventually relented, and he immediately scowled at his cards.

Anya was shocked at how truly miserable Cullen was at Wicked Grace. He lost the first few hands, and only avoided another loss because Dorian was caught cheating. He claimed to know her tell, though it was only the one she pretended to have to entice more betting. She eventually realized that while may not be rubbish at all card games, but he was definitely hopeless at Wicked Grace.

“You have to cheat, Cullen! That’s the only way to win against us,” Anya told him after he lost another hand.

“You knew immediately when I tried to cheat at the start of the game. There is no point in me trying the same tactic again,” he said with annoyance.

“You haven’t cheated since then?!” Anya gasped. “That was at least twenty hands ago! I’ve cheated every single hand since then.”

“You have not,” Cullen said, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, I have. And now that you know that, I have to stop playing, or I will never win another hand.” Everyone agreed to disperse for the night. Cullen and Anya’s room was the largest and finest available, if the innkeeper was to be believed. A narrow window that opened to an enchanting view of the stables. The bed was at least larger than she was expecting, and there was space for a table and two chairs, though the table took up so much of the tiny alcove that the chairs were practically unusable.

“Honestly, Cullen,” Anya said as she removed her robes, leaving only her under armor, “I assumed you would be better at Wicked Grace. You were able to lie to Harrith convincingly enough.”

Cullen leaned his breastplate against the wall. “Actually, I did not lie to Knight-Commander Harrith,” he sighed. Anya looked at him quizzically, and he sat down before he explained. “He could sense I was not taking lyrium, which I knew was a risk. He must have sensed it when I met with him that morning, but he didn’t mention it until he asked to speak to me alone.”

Anya was thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand. He gave you permission to marry as a templar. Why would he do that if he knew you weren’t taking lyrium?”

“I am not certain. He made the point that Templar vows were taken to protect all people, beyond just mages.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “He’d heard of the problem with red lyrium and how the Inquisition had cared for templars at Skyhold, and he was certain there was no way the Order would have survived without the help of the Inquisition. He was rightly concerned about maintaining order with the Circles reopening. Perhaps he was willing to curry favor with us in the event the Templars require aid.”

“Did he say that he wanted the Inquisition’s help?”

“No, though he also never explicitly asked me to swear that I was still loyal to the Templar Order.” 

Cullen grew quiet, and Anya gently prodded him to continue. He told her that the Knight-Commander had him perform a spell purge, but, without lyrium, it was so weak that he would have failed Templar initiation. It was evident to Anya how much the failure bothered him, though he tried to hide it. Harrith had also asked questions about Anya’s magic and whether she posed any risk being free from the Circle, and Cullen assured him that he trusted her.

Cullen shifted uncomfortably. “He also made me swear to the Maker that I would keep you from using blood magic and…strike you down if you became an abomination.” His face painfully showed that this pledge was weighing on him, even though Anya was aware she had battled hordes of demons and remained resolutely unpossessed.

“Well, since I have no intention of turning to blood magic or becoming an abomination, I suppose that will be an easy enough oath to keep,” she said, attempting levity. Cullen was unaffected, still looking very serious. “Cullen,” Anya said, looking him squarely in the face, “I meant it when I promised not to use blood magic, and I swear to the Maker I will continue to do everything I can to avoid becoming an abomination.” Cullen relaxed a bit at that, and Anya continued on with their conversation. “Harrith seemed so formal with everything. I’m surprised he was willing to bend some rules for us.”

Cullen sighed thoughtfully rubbing his bead. “He is committed to peace keeping, though beyond that I am not sure what his motivations were. He was rather circumspect. I suspect he would excel at Wicked Grace.” He looked at Anya and furrowed his brow. “You truly cheated every hand?”

“Yes, because that is how the game is played.” She gave him a teasing smile, which he ignored. Anya wondered if he was angry that he had been goaded into a game, which he then lost spectacularly. But he was now steadfastly not looking at her. Surely he wasn’t disappointed in her? _It was just a game_ , she thought bitterly, though she felt a growing sense of worry that she had somehow disappointed him.

Cullen interrupted her thoughts by saying he would sleep on the floor, which she gently declined, knowing that he had likely not slept well for at least the past two nights. He was resolute, however, and she became more and more vehement until they were practically arguing. It continued until she threw a pillow and blanket to the floor proclaimed that _she_ was sleeping on the floor and if _he_ wanted to leave the bed empty, that was his problem. Anya thought she may heard him call her an “impossible woman,” but she was steadfastly staring at the wall as he climbed into the bed and couldn’t have been sure he said anything at all.

She regretted her sympathetic offer in the morning as she waited to regain feeling in her arm while simultaneously trying to work out the cramp in her neck. Cullen had shown no appreciation for her sleeping on the floor, which irritated her less than the twinge she felt if she turned her head too quickly to the left. She massaged her neck intermittently as they traveled onward, and she was nearly recovered when they encountered a wandering trader set up off the road several miles east of Montsimmard. Anya perused his wares, which included a mixture of dull swords, a chipped staff, and various accessories, and found nothing to her liking, despite the man’s cheerful insistence that his prices were better than she would find in the city.

“You are heading toward Montsimmard, yes?” he asked. At Anya’s nod, he continued. “And surely an adventurer of the caliber of yourself has heard of the checkpoint there, hmm?” He explained that mages were being stopped from heading out of the city, in preparation for the Circles reopening.

“But the Circles have not reopened,” she said carefully.

“Ah, but our Orleasian Templars take their duties very seriously,” he said, clearly having noted her accent. “And you and your friend do not look the type to enjoy being imprisoned in the Circle,” he nodded to Dorian. She said nothing, but he continued, lowering his voice. “You seem a good sort. I may know of a path that would lead you around the checkpoint…” His eyes lingered on his wares.

Anya handed him some silvers for a cheapest ring on his cart. He told her that before the road ahead turns south, there would be a small path to the left that would lead around the city. She thanked him and mounted her horse. Once they were out of earshot, the group discussed the new information.

“I would not be surprised if mages’ movements were restricted, though we should be able to pass without incident,” Cullen commented. “This ‘path' is an obvious trap.” 

“I’m sure there are plenty of mages that are willing to take a few chances to stay out of the Circle,” Varric said.

“Which is why we are going down that path,” Anya asserted. 

The group headed slowly down the nonchalantly, though Cullen’s hand remained on his sword. He called for a stop once they were nearly out of view of the main road. “What is our strategy?”

Anya’s horse was beside his, and she shrugged. “You and Bull run in and hit them. Dorian and I handle barriers and offensive spells. Varric shoots them.” At Cullen’s silence, she added, “It’s always worked before.”

“Not every time, Boss,” Bull objected evenly.

“Well, most of the times. And for the last time, that dragon in the Hinterlands ambushed us,” Anya sighed to Bull.

“It wouldn’t have been ambush if you’d noticed those dragonlings when you rushed ahead to pick flowers.”

“It was elfroot for healing potions, and you know it.”

“And we needed all that elfroot when we dragged your bloody ass back to camp.”

Cullen interjected before she could respond. “Are you telling me you _never_ use a battle strategy?” He was looking at her like she was a recruit who didn’t know which end of the sword to hold.

“Everyone knows what to do. I don’t need to tell them every time we get in a battle,” she said defensively.

“That we are lucky enough to have group of highly-experienced fighters is no excuse to forego planning for a battle.” Cullen was struggling to control the volume of his voice. Anya could tell he was holding back a lecture, but he quickly ran through a strategy. Dorian would cast the first barrier, and Cullen and The Iron Bull would handle any heavily armored bandits, teaming up to fight any with full shields. Dorian, Anya and Varric would focus together on the bandits at the edge of the battle from a distance, one at a time, the closest ones first, with Dorian renewing Cullen and Bull’s barrier and Anya focusing on the her group.

Varric easily spotted and disarmed the few traps that had been placed as they made their way to a blind bend in the path. As expected, the bandits attacked immediately after Anya refused to pay the fee demanded for using the path. Even though they had been easily outnumbered 2:1, the battle went incredibly smoothly. Dorian, Varric, and Anya had made short work of the two groups of archers and a mage, whom Anya took particular joy in defeating. Cullen and Bull handled a few heavily armored bruisers without too much effort, and by the time they were done, Iron Bull was impressed.

“Cullen, you’ve a good sense of timing in battle. I liked that move with your shield when that one guy thought he could just hit my blindside. You want to spar anytime, you let me know,” he nodded to Cullen. 

Anya brightly told Cullen she was impressed with how quickly the fight was over, and he informed her, in what she rapidly realized was the lecture that he had been saving since earlier, that a strategy is more about keeping everyone safe than ending the battle quickly. Ensuring that he protected Bull’s left would keep him from being blindsided, and her and Dorian knowing where their fighters were would help not accidentally set them on fire. “I will not lose anyone because we were unprepared,” he ended with conviction. He still seemed upset with her, which confused her, but she let it go, mentally retorting that she had killed an undead ancient magister and multiple dragons and had not lost anyone from her inner circle in battle.

There was indeed a checkpoint at Montsimmard, though it was only a handful of templars noting which mages were traveling through the area and informing them that they would be expected to report to the Circle within the next few days. When they asked for her name and destination, she told them that she, Anya Trevelyan, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, was heading to investigate Venatori activity in the Hissing Wastes. None of the young-looking templars had any idea what to do this information, so they noted it and instructed her to be prepared to submit to the Circle in the next few days. When she further informed them that they had already handled the bandits preying on mages outside of town, and that they may want to deal with the vendor up the road who was clearly working with the bandits, she left the templars to their deepening state of confusion. She had told them nothing of her marriage to Cullen, worried that if she referred to him as a templar, they would be able to sense that he had stopped taking lyrium. She had no idea if sensing lyrium was a general templar ability or something to which knight-commanders and more experienced templars were attuned. Once they were a decent way out of town, Anya turned toward Cullen to ask him, quietly calling for his attention.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” came the terse reply.

What could she possibly have done wrong now? They had made it through the checkpoint with the templars none the wiser of their ruse, all thanks to her. He was taking issue with every decision she made, and she was well and truly over Cullen’s attitude. “Is there something wrong, _Commander Rutherford_?” she ground out from clenched teeth.

She could tell that Cullen was fighting back a retort. “I disagree with your decision to divulge our destination to the templars,” he responded.

“With recruits like that, they are going to have their hands full just getting their Circle reopened. By the time they have the manpower to track down missing mages, we will be long gone.”

“And we will have to return either through here or in Val Royeaux, which is days away from a mage uprising!” Cullen said, finally losing his composure. “I had hoped you would be able to use the deceptive skills you honed playing Wicked Grace to avoid giving away our intended position.”

The way he said _deceptive skills_ set Anya off. “Again with Wicked Grace! Which was a _game_ played for coppers that you never have to worry about me asking you to play again!”

“So you are only capable of deceiving those close to you and not the templars that could remand you to the Circle?!” Cullen asked incredulously. “You could have at least told them that you were exempt from conscription and avoided giving them more information than necessary!”

“I’m sorry that I was too busy worrying that the templars would figure out you weren’t taking lyrium to come up with an adequate battle plan!” Anya snapped.

“Good to see you two have begun to argue like an old married couple!” Varric called from a polite distance behind them. When they immediately turned to glare at him in unison, he chuckled instead of being chastised. 

Anya was incapable of admiring the rolling hills and seemingly infinite vineyards they passed through and was too lost in her thoughts to notice anything beyond the sway of her body in the saddle. She knew that she should stop replaying the interaction with the templars in her head and that nothing good would come from it. She had made her choice and should move on. She had been certain that she had done the right thing, but Cullen was right that divulging their destination had been a poor choice. That Cullen would even think that she would willingly and unnecessarily endanger her friends, herself, him…she was so angry that she felt close to tears. Unbidden memories of the times her friends nearly fell in battle assaulted her. The dragon in the Hinterlands, the templar ambush where she’d panicked, an unprepared venture to Emprise du Lion. Shame burned hot against her anger. Why had she not prepared? Would those fights have been different if she had been able to execute a strategy? 

Months of experience had taught her that nothing good could come from doubting her past decisions, but that rarely stopped her from doing so. The habit was worst just as she joined the Inquisition. For days after the destruction at the Conclave, she would lie in bed at night and cry, begging the Maker to make someone more capable the Herald of Andraste. The anchor steadfastly remained on her hand despite her prayers, and suddenly all of Thedas was turning to her to make decisions that would impact people she would never meet in nations she would never see. She eventually became more comfortable in her role as Inquisitor, but no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears she sacrificed at the altar of the Inquisition, it was never enough. Even after Corypheus fell, there was more that needed to be done, more that needed to be given, and no matter what choice she made, there was always someone who thought she was wrong. Today, it was Cullen, and that hurt more than she was willing to admit.

Even if he had been particularly grumpy today, she knew that he was right about battle strategies, though she had never intentionally avoided using one. Everyone she fought with was a seasoned fighter, and she had struggled at first to even keep up with them. She had assumed that Bull or Cassandra or even Vivienne would take charge of the battle if necessary. It hadn’t occurred to her until she was named Inquisitor that she was being looked to as a leader beyond the war table. By then, she’d felt it too late to ask anyone what she should do, and she had poured her energy into finding the best raw materials she could to fashion the strongest equipment possible for her team. She had been particularly proud of the equipment she made for Cullen, even if it had not yet seen much use.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Cullen’s horse appeared beside her own. He still looked cross, but he asked to speak with her. Though she would have sworn they were out of hearing distance, Varric, Dorian and Iron Bull trotted their horses ahead, leaving the two of them alone, their horses walking at a slower pace. Anya was certain that Cullen was going to resume their argument from earlier, though after her introspection, she was no longer in a mood to fight. She took a deep breath, ready to tell Cullen that she knew she should have been more careful in Montsimmard, but he spoke first.

“I do not believe the ‘templars’ we encountered in Montsimmard were true members of the Order. They were likely guardsman who have been recently recruited and had not received their first draught of lyrium.”

Anya’s mouth opened then closed again; she was too surprised to retort. “What? How can you be sure?”

He gave her a sad smile. “I was with the Templar Order for more than half my life. Either the Order has become very lax in preparing recruits for their vigil, or those young men have not received more than a few weeks worth of training at most.”

“I…didn’t realize that. I thought they were just inexperienced.”

“There was no way for you to have known. One had his sword slung so low on his hip that he would have struggled to unsheathe it. And the way they carried themselves…it is difficult to explain. Only someone with templar training would have noticed.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t mention our marriage because you thought they would know I wasn’t taking lyrium?”

Anya nodded. “You said Harrith knew that you weren’t taking it, so I thought maybe it was something that all templars could sense. It was too late to ask you once we had made it to the checkpoint. I should have made a plan for if how to react if we encountered templars,” she sighed. Anya could feel her face flush, but she continued on. “I’ve never had battle training, Cullen. You know that the Circles don’t allow mages to learn any sort of combat abilities. I just sort of learned what I could as I fought, but I do more than cast spells in battle. I don’t know anything about battle tactics, but I always do callouts in longer battles. If I can’t see someone when we were fighting, I yell their name so they could respond if they had it handled or needed help. I know it’s not perfect, but I would never lead my friends into danger and not try to protect them,” she finished with conviction. 

Cullen stopped his horse and looked at Anya, his face hard with an emotion she could not name. “I never meant to imply that you did not care for your comrades in battle. You make your care for the people who fight with you very clear.” He raked his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Anya, I have watched you do things that should have been impossible. At Adamant, you disappeared into the Fade and _returned_. You fought Corypheus and emerged victorious. In Haven, you…found your way back to us.” He closed his eyes momentarily before continuing. “You never appeared to need any assistance I could give. I’m sorry that I never offered to teach you techniques that would help you in battle.” He looked stricken, which Anya found to be both endearing, if a bit excessive. 

“Honestly, I felt completely incompetent when I joined the Inquisition. Everyone else had so much experience, and I was so intimidated. You were commanding an entire army, and I saw some of your recruits. They were even worse off than I was,” she smiled, and seeing his face lighten, she continued. “Besides, even if you had offered then, I doubt I would have accepted, but I would be happy to learn from your expertise now.”

Cullen offered to instruct her on techniques for fighting with her staff, and though Anya was dubious that he would be able to teach her anything, she agreed. They talked amiably as they walked back, and Anya was struck by how quickly their argument had been resolved. She had fought exactly once with Blackwall before she ended things with him. What had started the argument, she couldn’t even recall. They had avoided each other for days, and she stewed for most of the time. When she finally saw him again at the Herald’s Rest, they pretended like nothing happened and ended up in bed together. As their horses continued on to camp, Anya admitted to herself only the slightest pang of regret at Cullen’s superior skills in conflict resolution.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art in this chapter is by the amazingly talented Nykolai Aleksander. You can find more Dragon Age art on her [tumblr](https://sohawkward.tumblr.com/)

Before she realized it, they arrived at the camp west of Lake Celestine. Spreading their traveling between two days meant that even with their delays, they arrived at camp in late afternoon. Cullen thought this would be plenty of time for a few pointers, and Anya found his serious, instructional demeanor amusing until he told her she was holding her staff incorrectly. 

“Cullen, you cannot be serious.”

He smirked distractingly, the scar on his lip amplifying the motion. “Your stance and grip serve you well for casting, but you will need to make adjustments for close combat. Here, try to hit me.” At Anya’s hesitation, he continued. “If you are attacked while fighting and become unable to use your magic for any reason, you need to know how to defend yourself using your staff.” He held her eyes knowingly, and she nodded. She found a spare sash an wrapped the top of her staff, more to protect Cullen than the staff itself. She swung the top of her staff toward him, and he easily used his shield to block her swing. 

“Against a trained fighter, you will likely not be successful with a first strike at the shield. Your blow will be easily deflected. Though it may seem counterintuitive, you need to aim for the sword side.” He explained that her goal would be to disarm an attacker or at least delay an attack. If someone was close enough to inhibit her magic, she would likely only get one chance to strike. Her instinct to use the heavier part of her staff to strike was a common one, but it required her to draw back and waste valuable time winding up to hit. Cullen told her she should instead focus on dropping the top of her staff downward and use the momentum to strike with the bottom of the staff. He instructed her to adjust her grip so that her left hand was pulling up from underneath the staff while her right hand was applying downward force, then to drop her right foot back and swing the top of her staff down toward her right hip.

The movement was awkward for Anya, her muscles instinctively working to move the staff in preparation for casting. She struggled to use her left hand for an aggressive strike, but Cullen did not seem to share her frustration. He patiently practiced with her as she attempted to hit his empty sword hand in a variety of positions, though she was intentionally not swinging with enough force to injure him. After repeated successes, they practiced the process with a sword in his hand as she focused her efforts on his wrist. She had what she felt was moderate success, though Cullen was pleased with her progress. She was sweaty and achy and ready to quit, but Cullen was not yet done instructing.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, as if he had only expended the slightest of effort.

“I’m not sure mages are built for this sort of fighting,” Anya responded, trying to catch her breath while wiping sweat from her brow.

“My hope is that you never have to use any of it.” He stepped closer, dropping his voice low. “There is a defensive move you should know, as a last resort, but it would require striking at you with my sword. Would you be comfortable with that?”

The earnest concern in his eyes touched her more deeply than she expected. Her fear still flared, though it did not threaten to consume her. “I…am willing to try.”

“Tell me if you wish to stop,” he said, watching her face. She could only nod in response. He told her that if she was unable to strike, her best defense would be to use her staff as a shield. Though it would likely result in a broken staff if a sword connected, it would buy her time. It would require her hands farther apart to not only brace herself, but to hopefully protect her hands from being struck. He had her practice moving her hands into position from her standard casting hold. He told her to attempt to center the oncoming blade on the staff to offer the most protection.

After ensuring she was ready, he slowly swung his sword low to her side, and she was easily able to block it. He attempted different blows, ensuring he made eye contact with her after each attempt and not continuing until she nodded in concurrence. When Anya blocked his overhead strike, she felt powerful in a way completely different from how her magic made her feel. It was exhilarating.

“You are a very quick study,” Cullen smiled approvingly.

“You are a very fine teacher,” she returned his smile. “And thank you for…everything.” She held his gaze, not able to form the words that she wanted to say. That his calm acceptance of her fear was more than she had ever hoped to expect. That he helped her feel stronger and safer than in any time in her recent memory. That she wished she had not dismissed him as just another templar. That she found his eyes to be an intoxicating shade of brown.

Bull interrupted her thoughts. “Cullen, you up for a bit of defensive sparring, or has Anya worn you out?” He approached them with a smile as Dorian hung back. Anya had no idea how long they had been watching them. Cullen agreed to spar with Bull, and Anya joined Dorian in what he assured her was an absolutely necessary supervisory role as she heard Bull chuckle to Cullen.

Though Dorian smugly chided the Southern Chantry for not teaching their mages non-magical defensive techniques, his eyes rarely left the sparring session. Indeed, Anya found it nearly impossible to avert her eyes from Bull and Cullen. Neither were heavily armored for the casual nature of their sparring, Bull wearing only his standard qunari harness while Cullen had shed his armor in favor of only pauldrons over his brown bear-hide leather shirt and breeches, fitting snug against every strain of his muscles. If Anya had thought rationally about it, the sparring appeared less like fighting and more like an exhibition. However, the display quickly engrossed both onlookers, who were too busy appreciating what they saw to consider the level of effort actually being expended. Anya was transfixed for several minutes until she realized that Dorian was speaking to her.

“That Cullen was hiding such a physique under that ridiculous fur-lined monstrosity is unforgivable,” Dorian observed, in judgement of Cullen’s usual attire at Skyhold.

Anya remembered the coat that he typically wore at the war table, but she gave little effort to recalling it. “I am regretting the dragon-bone armor I crafted for him and am developing an increasing fondness for bear hide,” she commented absently.

“As his wife, I believe it is your duty to regulate his questionable fashion choices.”

Anya sighed, her eyes still fixed on the sparring match. “I doubt he would give up the armor. He seemed rather taken with it.”

“And why would he give up a wedding present from his beloved?” He ignored Anya’s brief sideways glance. “Would you give up your necklace? Which shows remarkably good taste for the commander, I must say.”

Anya smiled as she ran her finger over the stone. “It’s almost exactly like the one you tried to convince me to keep, do you remember?”

“The one that you agonized about that entire trip back from the Hinterlands? How could I forget? And even though you failed to heed my advice to keep it, here it has made its way back to you. Not inclined to part with it now, I assume.”

Anya was about to retort that it was obviously not the same necklace that she had sold months ago, when Bull and Cullen walked over to them. Cullen had sheathed his sword and was rolling up his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms glistening in a way Anya found to be astoundingly and distractingly masculine.

“You two enjoying yourselves?” Bull inquired as if he already knew the answer.

“Cullen, your wife was admiring your form.” Dorian’s lip quirked suggestively. “Your sword work is impeccable.”

“And what about _my_ form?” Bull inquired.

“We are all forced to admire your form since you refuse to wear anything that resembles a shirt,” Dorian retorted blithely, though when Bull whispered something close to his ear, Dorian was momentarily lost for words. They both disappeared in the direction of their tent, but Anya was focused on Cullen, whose caramel eyes were sparkling from the exertion. His eyes were truly more attractive than she had ever noticed, warm and deep, the color of oak leaves in early autumn. She realized he was smirking at her, and it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea how long she had been staring at him. She abruptly declared her need for a bath as she turned on her heel and walked into camp. She found one of the female scouts who directed Anya to the bathing tent, but upon seeing the commander behind her, clarified that they only had a shallow basin large enough for one person. The dark-haired woman intimated that the scouts usually just head to an inlet on the lake just down the footpath, which she casually observed was _remarkably_ _private_. 

Anya waited until the woman left to turn to Cullen, who was attempting to school his features into indifference. Anya much preferred the idea of bathing in the lake, as the memory of a previous camp bathing experience where she had slipped and narrowly avoided ripping down the tent and exposing herself to the entire camp was not one she wished to repeat. She had no idea why she decided to share this story with Cullen, though it unwittingly worked to her advantage. He was unwilling to allow her to go alone and unprotected, which left him with no alternative but to join her. They walked the short distance to the lake in silence, each carrying a set of clean clothes and their weapons.

The inlet did indeed offer a surprising amount of privacy, cutting back out of view of the rest of the lake with a small copse of trees on its banks. Cullen agreed to stand watch first and steadfastly looked away as Anya undressed. “Do you promise not to peek?” she teased.

“I will promise not to admire your form as long as you promise the same.” 

She could hear the amusement in his voice, and she silently cursed Dorian. She stammered a promise to Cullen’s back before making her way toward the lake. The rough sand of the shore was littered with smooth, waterworn pebbles, but the temperature of the water drove all other thoughts from her mind.

“By the Maker, it is freezing!” she exclaimed.

“Templars were always told to think of cold water as _bracing_ ,” Cullen replied, still watching the trees.

“You never had your water warmed?! You were surrounded by mages. I c-cannot believe your knight-commander didn’t have your water heated with magic.” Anya tried to wade deep enough to at least wash her hair. She covered her breasts protectively with both hands, dreading to sink any lower into the water. 

“Likely a matter of discouraging lingering during bathing. If we took any longer than five minutes, we automatically incurred latrine duty.”

She whimpered as she sunk into the water, wishing she could warm the entirety of the water. “I could barely wash my hair in five minutes when it was long. But if your water was anything like this, I’m sure I would have learned to be quicker.” The freezing water shocked her scalp as she tipped backward, running her fingers through her hair as quickly as possible. “The first thing I am doing when we get back to Skyhold is spending an hour in my tub.”

“You have a soaking tub?” Cullen asked with surprise.

“One of the few good things to come from our visit to the Winter Palace,” she said as she minimally scrubbed herself. “Josephine told me that it was from a noble who likely noticed the blood on my face and hands when I was dancing with Florianne, but that tub is worth a thousand Orlesian insults,” she said wistfully. She smiled as she waded quickly back toward Cullen. “Did any of your admirers from Halamshiral send you gifts? They seemed very…persistent.”

“Nothing as useful as a soaking tub,” Cullen muttered. “A few trinkets. A wheel of cheese from a woman who had offered her hand in marriage without ever removing her mask,” his voice tinged with exasperation.

Anya smiled and dried herself with a quick warming spell. “And you weren’t even tempted to accept? If she was a Marquise, you could have been _Marquis Cullen Rutherford_ ,” she said in the worst Orlesian accent she could muster.

“I was absolutely not tempted by any those masked harpies,” Cullen asserted.

“I remember how miserable you looked that night. Did anyone ever convince you to dance?”

He sighed. “I received not a single offer that tempted me to dance that night. Regardless, we were busy enough stopping an assassination attempt.” They both agreed that one more visit to the Winter Palace would be one too many. Anya finished dressing and felt much better. She grabbed her staff before switching places with Cullen. He smirkingly made her again promise to maintain his privacy, so she felt a sense of satisfaction when she heard him gasp as he entered the icy water.

“Bracing enough for you, Cullen?” she called brightly.

“Invigorating,” he muttered. He splashed about in the water without additional comment. After a minute, even the splashing stopped. All was quiet until Cullen eventually spoke. “Anya, how did you dry yourself?”

“With magic?” she said in confusion, until it dawned on her. “You don’t have a towel, do you?”

“No, I do not,” irritation evident in his voice.

Anya fought to keep her amusement from her voice. “What do you want to do?” 

Cullen sighed. “Are you able to do the spell with your eyes closed?”

“Yes, but not at a distance. You’ll need to be within arms’ reach.” 

“Close your eyes…please,” he said with teeth clenched. Anya was unsure how much was due to the cold water and how much was aggravation. She did as he asked, and she heard him approach slowly until he was standing in front of her. She wanted to tease him a bit more, but even with her eyes closed, she could sense his discomfort as he stepped in front her. She cautiously stretched out her right arm and held up her hand, instructing him to move her hand just above his skin to where he wanted warm. “You’re certain you want me to use my magic?” She cocked her head even as her eyes remained closed

“Yes,” he replied tersely. “I am freezing.” He took a deep breath, and his voice softened. “I trust you, Anya.” 

Her magic thrummed off his body, and it was impossible to resist the urge to imagine the way he looked, standing completely naked before her. He moved her hand slowly across his chest then down the line of his stomach. His breathing stilled as hers quickened, her hand hovering over the jut of his hip. She bit her lip as he drifted her hand over the muscles of his thigh sliding back toward the top of his calf. Cullen raised her hand back up to his chest, and his other hand lingered above her magic as he switched hands and repeated the motion on his right side. When he eventually released her hand, she stopped her spell and reluctantly lowered her hand. Cullen thanked her, his voice heavy, and Anya dared not open her eyes even after he stepped away to dress.

She eventually asked if he was alright, after she had been able to recover sufficiently herself. He confirmed that he was, though when she finally opened her eyes, she thought he appeared exhausted. She decided not to question him, though she surreptitiously watched him as they ate after their return to camp. Varric took the opportunity during supper to regale Cullen with the story of the time they were set upon by an extended family of bears, which seem to emerge never ending from the woods around their camp. Cullen listened attentively, but Anya could see the dark circles under his eyes as he seemed to fight back a yawn that was no reflection of Varric’s skill as a storyteller. Varric finished his story with a particularly good imitation of Cassandra’s opinions on the local fauna. Cullen appeared to be trying to smile, but he looked more focused on keeping his eyelids open. 

“You okay, Curly? The excitement of the road getting to be too much for you?” Varric asked with a wry smile.

Cullen chuckled lightly.“It has been some time since I have been out in the field. It is proving to be more taxing than reviewing scouting reports.”

“Cullen, I fear that your time as a commander has softened you,” Dorian interjected. “You may stand safely behind me the next time we encounter an angry mob of wild nugs, for your protection, of course.”

“I assure you, Dorian, I will be perfectly capable of adequately performing my duties,” he said before succumbing to a rather undistinguished yawn. “Though perhaps after some rest.” He looked to Anya, and she rose immediately and bid everyone a hurried good night. 

Cullen seemed to quickly fall asleep once they retired to their tent, but Anya’s thoughts twisted and turned, more often than not thinking of him. Her attraction to her husband had become undeniable, which was extraordinarily inconvenient. She felt foolish that in the months prior she had not noticed how warm his eyes could be when he smiled, though she had to admit that she had seen him smile very little during her time with the Inquisition. She imagined again what he would have looked like in front of her at the lake, his pale skin flushing as her hand warmed it. She fidgeted, her body begging her to continue thinking of him, but she knew that there was no way she could sleep if she allowed her mind to linger on the features of the man who was asleep next to her. She forced herself to think of anything else. Runes. Spiders. Shards…Would she have time to collect shards in the Hissing Wastes? Likely not, as surely the Venatori would take priority, but the mystery of the doors in the Solasan temple in the Forbidden Oasis was appealing. Perhaps there would be something useful to understanding more about how Corypheus rose to power and how they could stop it from happening again. Or perhaps there was an ancient masterwork staff hidden deep inside. Most likely just more sarcophagi and magical traps.

She must have fallen asleep because the sound of the tent flap jolted her awake. Anya saw that Cullen was gone, and she poked her head out the tent to see him standing with his back to her. She softly called to him, and he jerked toward her in alarm. He looked worse than before he had fallen asleep, his eyes red and swollen. The sweat on his brow was glistening in the light of the campfire as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Maker’s breath,” he gasped. “I’m sorry I woke you again. I’ll be fine. Please go back to sleep.”

“Another bad dream?” she asked quietly, already leaving the tent to stand next to him. He could only nod in response, but it was obviously more a nightmare than a mere bad dream. The tension was evident across his brow and shoulders, as if he was ready to fight, but his face was strained and full of pain. She noticed the scout on duty glancing at them, and she convinced Cullen to walk with her to the edge of camp. “Do you have nightmares every night?” she asked him softly after they were out of earshot.

“Nearly. I don’t always remember them, but they often wake me.” That he remembered what he dreamt tonight was obvious.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he answered immediately. He grimaced at his own reaction, and they were both quiet for a moment. Anya had been to the Fade and seen what nightmares waited unlucky dreamers. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to relive whatever haunted him tonight…or maybe every night.

“Have you slept a full night since we left Skyhold?” Anya watched his face for a reaction, and he said nothing, which was enough for her to assume that he had not. She had only seen him look like this when he stopped taking lyrium, so this had to be something new. “Is it sleeping in the tent?”

“They happen regardless of where I am sleeping,” he replied evasively.

“Cullen,” she asked gently, “is the tent making it worse?”

“I…find it harder to return to sleep in the tent.” 

She recognized the shame and disappointment in his voice, the wanting desperately not to be afraid and failing. He was here, fighting nightmares and his own internal terror, because of her. Because the Inquisitor needed to be married to a templar to protect the Inquisition. He had been willing to take lyrium, to bear the effects of addiction again, for her and the Inquisition. And even though they had avoided it, he was still suffering. Because of the Inquisition. Because of her. 

He had saved her from the Circle. She would help him with this in any way she could, even if it meant a few nights of uncomfortable sleep.

“Would you want to try sleeping without the tent?” she offered.

“It would be too dangerous. You would be too exposed if the camp was attacked.” He seemed to have already considered this, and truthfully, the idea of them sleeping in view of the entire camp was unappealing. An open tent flap had not been enough to alleviate his fears, but what if they cut a hole in the top of their tent? Cullen dismissed this as a wasteful venture, ruining a camp tent, to which Anya insisted, as quietly but vehemently as possible, that his comfort was worth more to her than the cost of a tent. Cullen relented, and she went to the scout before Cullen could brook a fresh argument. She implied to the scout that had _reasons_ for wanting a hole in the top of their tent, and the man seemed content to lend her a knife and leave it at that.

Cullen used a knife to cut a flap in the top of the tent, as large as possible while still maintaining the integrity of the structure. Once they were alone inside, the relief on his face made her smile. “Better?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

There was more she needed to say, but the little privacy they had in the tent was now gone. She gazed up at the stars instead and prayed to the Maker for clear skies and no rain.


	11. Chapter 11

Though the sun shining on her face awoke Anya at what she felt was an unreasonable hour, she took comfort in the fresh, warm bread that awaited her for breakfast. It was almost worth waking up early. Almost. She noticed Cullen pouring over scouting reports and walked over to him as she finished her bread. “Anything interesting?”

He handed her one paper that he had set to the side. “This should qualify as interesting.”

She skimmed the missive, then read it again in disbelief. “Vivienne has been made the Right Hand of the Divine?! She’s a mage!”

“What better way to appease the mages resistant to the Circles? A mage, one with connections to both Empress Celene and the Inquisition, will carry out the will of the Divine. And since a mage has never been a Hand to the Divine, it will give the impression that reforms will be made. It is a bold move, to be sure, and hopefully one that will improve the situation with the mages in Val Royeaux.”

Anya thought for a moment. “Do you think this was Cass…Divine Victoria’s plan all along? Why not announce it along with the Circles reopening?”

“The mages may have pushed her hand. One of the first things a Divine usually chooses is her Hands, but the Circle reinstatement took priority. I doubt this changed her choice in the matter, though I hazard that there will be less opposition to a mage if it is viewed as a concession in the name of peace.”

“Quite convenient for Vivienne that the mages in Val Royeaux were so outraged, then,” Anya mused. That Vivienne had the skill and connections to both stoke and extinguish the flames of resistance, she had no doubt.

Cullen smirked, obviously sharing her assessment of Vivienne’s skill at The Game. “Quite convenient indeed. I’ll ensure we get ongoing reports on the situation in Val Royeaux.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Anya said with a teasing smile.

He cleared his throat before returning her smile. “As your commander, I suggest that we resume our defensive lesson from yesterday.” The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled was patently unfair, she thought as she willingly followed him to the edge of camp where the grass was still wet with dew. They resumed their combat practice, and Anya quickly became more comfortable with the motions. Cullen allowed her to catch her breath as he fetched his armor so that he could demonstrate other weak points for her to attack.

“The wrist will likely be the closest to attack, but the elbow is also undefended for most sword fighters. Focus on hitting from below just above the elbow.” It took Anya multiple attempts, but she finally was able to strike Cullen, though much harder than she had meant to.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would connect!”

“That was exactly what you were supposed to do,” he said, grimacing as he flexed his arm repeatedly. “Do not apologize for that. Try the motion again.” 

“But I _am_ sorry, Cullen.”

“You are making for a very poor sparring partner,” he said without any hint of irritation. It was enough to spur her to continue, and she was able to strike him several times with more restrained force. They also practiced footwork for dodging attacks, which Anya was less grateful for when she slipped in the wet grass and slammed her knees into the ground. As she moved to stand, Cullen stopped her. “What would you have done if this happened in battle?”

Anya could feel the dew soaking her knees. “Probably use my staff and whack him between the legs before I immolate him,” she said in exasperation.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Then I appreciate you sparing me,” Cullen conceded as he offered his hand to help her stand. “The point I wanted to make was to never stop fighting.”

“I promise to maim as many groins as possible in battle,” she replied with mock seriousness as she magically dried the damp spots on her knees.

“Sweet Andraste, Curly! What are you teaching her?!” Varric chuckled as he stopped his approach. He held his hands up as he backed away slowly. “No, no…you know what? I don’t want to know. I’m just going to be on the far side of camp until you two finish whatever this is and are ready to get going.”

Cullen sighed. “That will be enough for today.”

Anya caught his arm as he turned to walk away. “Cullen, you don’t have to worry. I will always keep fighting. I just don’t want to hurt you…again.” She glanced at his elbow.

“I would gladly take a few bruises in an effort to improve your chances of success in battle.” He smiled grimly as he looked askance at her. “Though perhaps there are a few techniques that we do not practice.”

She laughed, and it wasn’t until they reached their tent that she realized she had linked her arm through his, though neither commented on it. They gathered their things, and Anya decided to bring the modified tent with them since Cullen seemed to feel much better this morning. Cullen objected, but she told him firmly that if Varric could use the modified stirrups that Dennet fashioned so that Varric could mount his horse, they could keep the tent for him. Whether her argument convinced him or he recognized her tone from the night in Verchiel, she could not be sure, but he voiced no further resistance. 

Patchy clouds and a light breeze kept the day feeling cooler than the last time Anya had travelled to the Western Approach, for which she was thankful. Having spent most of her life inside the Circle Tower, she was still adjusting to spending entire days out of doors, even if the temperatures outside the mountains were usually pleasant. Cullen engaged Anya in conversation as they left camp, first about the fine weather, but soon ran a gamut of easy topics as they passed through Val Firmin and beyond. They enjoyed reading, though neither had recently had much time for the pursuit. Their Circles had shared some of the same titles, and they had both read all the volumes of _History of Fereldan_ , though Anya admitted that she had read the volumes as something of a last resort. She had cared more for the descriptions of the lands across the Waking Sea from Ostwick than she had for the rise and fall of empires, but she was pleasantly surprised that Cullen’s enthusiasm for the topic was enough to overcome her own tepid interest. That she spent nearly a half an hour debating whether Ostwick or Redcliffe was more defensible was even more surprising.

The clouds had nearly disappeared as they reached the eastern and nearest camp in the Western Approach in the middle of the afternoon. As they dismounted their horses, Anya noticed that Cullen’s normally pale skin was looking particularly flushed. She quickly pulled him into an empty tent before he could protest.

“You need water,” she said, pushing her half-full leather waterskin into his hand after noticing that his was empty.

He drank gratefully and thanked her. She offered to cool his neck with her magic, which seemed to help him, though the skin on his cheeks and the back of his neck remained an angry red. She gave him a pitying smile. “Cullen, you are burnt.”

“I am not!” he said indignantly.

“Your neck and cheeks disagree,” she smiled. “You’re remarkably red.”

He scowled. He turned away from her and rubbed the back of his neck, which caused him to flinch. Anya left the tent, returning a moment later with a health potion and an elfroot balm. He took the offered health potion, and she explained that the balm would keep his skin from peeling. She cooled it slightly with her magic, and he accepted her offer to apply it to his neck. The strokes of her fingers were gentle against the fiery skin. She moved in front of him and continued applying it to his cheeks, smiling contentedly as he watched her. “Better?” she asked once finished.

“Yes, thank you,” he mumbled, his cheeks already pink instead of red.

“You know, the first day I left the Circle, my cheeks were so burnt I could barely smile.” He looked at her skeptically, but she continued. “No really. I didn’t have any elfroot balm, and my nose peeled for days. And the itching only made it worse,” she said wrinkling her nose.

“Thank you saving me from such a fate,” Cullen said, giving Anya a small smile. “I suppose I have been spending too much time inside reviewing reports.”

“I’ll have a word with Leliana and Josephine about brevity in their reports. Or maybe you’ll have to spend more time in the field.” She flashed him a wide smile and took another sip of her water. They lingered as long as possible in the camp, moving on once Cullen assured Anya he had recovered. They reached Griffon Wing Keep just as the sun set, the final rays of the day casting a warm glow over the sand. It was the first time Anya had returned to the keep since just after their battle at Adamant. The new bridge over sulphur pits begged her to explore, but she was ready to put the sand behind her for the day. The keep’s portcullis raised at their approach, and Knight-Captain Rylen greeted them with a wide, tanned smile in his easy Starkhaven brogue.

“Inquisitor, Commander. Very nice to see you both again, and I understand that congratulations are in order! Best wishes to you both.”

“Thank you Rylen,” Cullen replied. “How are you faring out here? I must say I am impressed at the progress you’ve made.”

Rylen stood straighter under his commander’s praise. “Thank you, Cullen. We appreciate the resources to deal with the wildlife, and the new cook has been making some of the best food I’ve had in a long while. There’s just a bit of time before supper, if you’d like to see some of the improvements first hand.”

Varric confirmed that their quarters would be in the same location as the last time he had been to the keep, and he, Dorian, and Bull left Anya and Cullen with Rylen. The man was obviously proud of the work they had done, which had been quite an undertaking. Anya was pleased to see the progress made now that an uncontaminated water source had been found and the issue of the aggressive varghests had been resolved. Parts of the keep had been damaged when Anya led the charge to overtake it from the Venatori, but there was little evidence of that now. In fact, she thought it looked much better than the first time she had seen it, and she relayed her thoughts to Rylen as they walked the northern ramparts lit with torches.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. My men have been working hard since you took the keep. The only thing we’ve not been able to address is the darkspawn from the ruins to the North, though they’ve not given us much trouble of late.”

“I believe I should be able to persuade my husband to help me handle that problem for you tomorrow before we leave for the Wastes,” she said, smiling at Cullen. She _really_ wanted to see what was on the other side of that bridge.

He returned her smile. “I find that I have already been persuaded.”

Rylen chuckled. “Ach, Cullen. You’ve found yourself a good woman. Marital bliss suits you. Speaking of which,” he said, his pale blue eyes shining with mischief, “I’ll show you to your quarters, in case you need any time to err…freshen up from the road.” Cullen gave him a look, but the man just laughed. “Well, quarters may be a bit generous a term, but I did want to give you a bit of privacy. Figured you two wouldn’t mind being a bit on top of each other, if you’ll pardon the expression.” He was clearly enjoying this.

He showed them to a small room in a corner of the second floor of the keep with a single thin window on the curved exterior wall. The room was barely large enough to fit the two beds that looked to have been jammed into the room with considerable force. They reached wall to wall, leaving only a small gap to the window and enough space for a boxy chest at the door with a pitcher of water and a basin on top. There would be barely enough room for the two of them to stand in the room together.

“Had to repurpose a weapon storage room, but my men enjoyed the challenge of getting the beds to fit. Not sure whether they’ll make it back out without an axe, so don’t go easy on the beds on our account.”

“Thank you, Rylen,” Cullen said, giving the man a flat look.

He smiled. “Not at all. I’ll see you two at supper,” he called over his shoulder.

Cullen closed the door behind them and sighed. “Rylen always did go above and beyond.”

“You two know each other well?” Anya asked, pouring a little water on her hands to clean her face.

Cullen was removing his armor while looking for a place to put it. “He was with a contingent of templars from Starkhaven that came to Kirkwall to help with the rescue and rebuilding efforts. He’s a very hard worker and a good leader. I actually recruited him to the Inquisition,” he said, appearing to only momentarily regret his decision.

Anya smiled reassuringly. “It’s not so bad. At least we both get a bed, and there’s a window.” She looked around the room again, which while small, had a ceiling at least double her height. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep here?” she asked.

“It seems adequate,” he replied evasively. Anya decided not to push the issue any further, since they had little choice in the matter for the evening. They finished their preparations and went down to the mess hall on the main level of the keep. The room had three long sets of tables spanning more than half the length of the room with benches on either side. At the far end of the room was another table, slightly shorter but still with seating for at least ten. There, Varric was in conversation with Rylen while Dorian and Bull were talking to a few other soldiers. Anya and Cullen went to the food line and grabbed their plates, which held a thick cut of red meat encrusted with spices accompanied by herbed potatoes. 

Cullen sat between Rylen and Anya across from Varric, who was deep into his plate. “No conversation until you try the food,” he said simply.

Anya and Cullen shared a look before they both cut into the steak. It was without question the best steak she had ever eaten. Cullen appeared to share her assessment as they both savored their food.

“This is incredible,” Anya cooed, cutting another bite as she finished the first.

“Any idea what it is?” Varric asked.

“Sent by the Maker himself,” Anya said, enjoying her second piece as much as the first and wondering how the potatoes could possibly compare.

Rylen laughed. “I’ll have to share your praise with Matthieu, our cook. He can do amazing things with phoenix meat.”

Cullen stopped cutting his meat and gave Rylen a look. “This is phoenix? Aren’t they poisonous?”

“Matthieu assures me that only the organs are troublesome,” Rylen commented, nearly finished with his steak. “He’s quite particular about preparation, thank the Maker, or we’d all be dead. Only buys from a few of the hunters he trusts, and he bought this beast special for you,” he said tipping his head toward Anya and Cullen as he took as drink of wine.

“Cullen, I hear that this cook’s position is your doing,” Dorian said from down the table. “I will never forgive you for not assigning him to Skyhold. That he could do _this_ with phoenix meat is a marvel.”

“You haven’t yet tried his cakes,” Rylen smiled. “I swear they’re the only reason we’ve been able to keep so many soldiers way out here in the Approach. Ah, here we are.” He looked to a man with a shaved head emerging from the kitchen followed by a younger man and woman, each carrying heaping trays of cakes. “Matthieu, your food is impressing all of our guests, even our resident Tevinter,” he said nodding to Dorian.

“I am pleased you enjoy it,” he said in a breezy Orleasian accent. “Desserts tonight are a lemon and vandal aria cake and a chocolate brownie which our knight-captain practically ordered me to make,” he said with a wisp of smile as he glanced at Rylen.

“Only because it’s the best dessert I’ve ever had in my life!” he said, smiling enthusiastically at him. “How better to welcome the commander and Inquisitor?”

“The brownie is too heavy to follow the phoenix,” he chided. “I agreed to make it only to get you out of my kitchen. Take care to leave some for our guests, gentlemen,” he said with a look to Rylen, nodding to Anya and Cullen before he returned to the kitchen.

Everyone agreed with Rylen’s assessment of Matthieu’s desserts, especially Bull, who made a noise after his first bite that Anya had only heard him make when talking about dragon fights. She secretly agreed with Matthieu about the lemon and vandal aria cake, which was light and delicious and reminded her of a rose lemonade she’s tried once in Orlais, only this had icing, which made it far superior. She was taking the tragic, final bite of her second slice when she realized that Cullen and Rylen were discussing something other than food.

“Only four men left to return to the Order. Two of them were the ‘married to the Chantry' sort, so no surprise there. The other two were set on the idea of overseeing mages returning to the Circles.” His eyes moved to Anya. “You’ll not be returning, Inquisitor?”

“Please call me Anya, Rylen, and no, I’m not planning on returning to the Circle,” she replied evenly.

“Pleased to hear it, Anya,” he nodded. “I agree there’s still much more to do out here, between darkspawn and demons and those Venatori. We’ll do alright with the few men we lost, but I fear we’ll lose more if the Order pushes through any reforms. A few years ago, I would’ve said it would have taken Andraste herself to convince the Order to make changes, but they've lost too many good men since then.”

Cullen nodded. “How many do you think you will lose if the Order relaxes the lyrium requirement?” Anya’s eyes snapped to Cullen, but Rylen continued thoughtfully.

“A handful of men have stopped, and they’re handling it the best they can. I know some of them would return to the Order if they wouldn’t have to go back to the lyrium. They’re good fighters. It’d be tough to lose them.”

Cullen and Rylen continued talking about supply lines of lyrium and general goods to the keep, but Anya was lost in thought. She had never considered that the Templar Order would be so desperate that they would change lyrium requirements to fill their ranks. She thought back to the number of red templars she had fought over the last several months, numbering in the hundreds. Even if every other templar that had been untouched by red lyrium returned, the templar ranks would still be diminished. If the guardsmen-turned-templars they encountered in Montsimmard were any indication, perhaps the Order was in more trouble than she realized.

Rylen clapped Cullen on the shoulder as he stood and wished them a good night, leaving in the direction of the kitchens. Cullen informed Bull, Dorian, and Varric of their plan to deal with the darkspawn coming from the ruins tomorrow. They all agreed to leave early to avoid the midday heat, everyone staring at Anya until she twice promised them that she would be up and ready to leave not too long after first light.

Cullen headed off to talk to some of their soldiers, so Anya decided to wander the ramparts alone. She felt a pit in her stomach at the idea of Cullen returning to the Templar Order, even if he was not required to take lyrium. He had told her that he had left that life behind him, but would he still feel the same if he could go back to the life he had dreamed of as a child while still avoiding lyrium? She had thought that she would do anything to avoid the Circle, but she wasn’t sure that she would be able to ask him to ignore his dreams just to maintain her freedom. He had given so much already, and given it willingly and without complaint. She could not ask more of him. She looked out into the desert, the glow of the moon barely illuminating the sand, as her thoughts churned aimlessly.

Anya heard Cullen approach her and lean on the ramparts next to her in much the same way she was. “How are the soldiers?” she forced herself to ask.

“They are happy, or at least they appear to be. They are dedicated to the Inquisition, so I doubt any more will leave for the time being.” She nodded distractedly, and he looked at her. “You’ve been awfully quiet this evening. Something on your mind?”

She took a breath, but before she could speak, she noticed one of the soldiers on duty not far from them. She motioned for Cullen to follow her, and when she shut the door to their room behind her, the room felt even smaller than before. She felt him watching her, but she resolutely looked at her hands.

“Cullen,” she took a deep breath but was unable to stem the tide of words that burst forth. “I know that you wanted to be a templar since you were young, and I know you said you were done with the Order, mostly because of the lyrium, but if the templars make changes, and you want to rejoin the Order…I don’t want to keep you from it. We would figure something out. Alistair will clarify the property issue, and Celene could appoint me to her court, or I could go to Tevinter for a while, or…”

“Anya,” he said softly. She still wouldn’t look at him as he continued. “There was more to my decision to leave the Templar Order than lyrium. The Order failed the templars after the Circles fell and left them vulnerable to people like Samson, who were willing to exploit them.” Anya finally looked at him and saw pain flash across his face before softening again while he gazed at her. “The Inquisition did what the Order should have done. We took in those who needed our help and protected them. I am completely committed to the Inquisition. I have no intention of returning to the Templar Order,” he said gently but firmly.

Anya exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “If you ever change your mind, you will tell me?”

“Of course,” he confirmed.

His confirmation lessened the feeling of dread deep inside her, but it refused to abate, which she could only assume was due to the Circles reopening the following day. She ignored the feeling, asking Cullen for his bed preference, which was the bed closest to the door. She climbed into bed as she wished him a good night, staring out the window with the knowledge that sleep would not come easy for her tonight. She thought of the other mages from the Ostwick Circle and wondered if they would return tomorrow. She had lived most of her life with them, but she rarely thought of them now, a realization that stung with regret. Had she not encountered Corypheus at the Conclave, she would be among those expected to report to the Circles. Would she have seen the mages from Ostwick again? Mages like Marjorie, who had been as close to a grandmother as Anya and the other younger mages would ever know, who had spent her entire life in the Circle, having been born to a mage mother she never met. Or Rita, who had been Anya’s closest friend in the Circle before they had fought over Samuel, whom both had loved with the recklessness of youth but who had done nothing to deserve the affection of either of them.

Cullen was fidgeting in his sleep next to her, and she watched him, hoping his dreams were peaceful. She wondered if there had been anyone he had cared about that he had left behind either in the Circle Tower or Kirkwall. He seemed to have made at least a few friends in Kirkwall, but was there anyone he loved? Was there anyone he still loved? Anya felt worry settle again in her stomach, so she sat up quietly and stood, practically pressed against the window in the little space available. The view of the sand in the glow of the moon offered no reprieve from her thoughts. She sat back down on the bed as Cullen began to breathe heavily. She was mentally debating the merits of waking him when his eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed, gasping for air.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and see her, his face strained as the nightmare faded in the moonlight. He held her gaze silently before closing his eyes and hanging his head. The pain in his face sliced through her, and without thinking, she closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him. His body was drawn tense as a bowstring, completely still against her.

“Is this okay?” she asked softly, her cheek next to his. His breath shuddered, though he said nothing for a moment. Before she thought to pull away, his hands wrapped around her back. He buried his face against her hair and breathed a single word. 

“Yes.” 

His hands splayed against her back as if to hold her there forever. She held him tighter, the feel of his body against hers more enthralling than she had imagined. She pulled back to look into his face and saw the longing there, illuminated in the moonlight. Her lips found his, and he willingly accepted the reassurance she gave him. He held her close as his mouth opened against hers, igniting a desire that threatened to consume her. Her fingers ran through his hair, and he groaned into her mouth. Nothing existed except him. She pressed her body into his, silently begging him to take her. 

He froze against her then, and pulled away as his hands gently tugged at her wrists behind his neck. Cullen stood up from the bed, refusing to look at her. “Get some sleep, Anya,” he told her, his voice thick as he left the room. After the door shut behind him, Anya’s cheeks blazed with shame. She struggled for breath as she stared at the door. She eventually rolled to her side and brought her knees to her chest, staring again at the window. She pretended to be asleep when she heard Cullen return later, and a tear fell silently down her cheek as he quietly eased into bed without another word.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the content of this chapter, I updated the content warning. The violence is canon-typical but not overly graphic.

The sound of a door closing woke her the next morning as the sky blazed red over the sand outside. Anya buried her face in her pillow as the memory of last night assaulted her thoughts while her necklace pressed against her chest. She was sure that Cullen had intentionally shut the door in an attempt to wake her without talking to her, and she dreaded having to face him today. In a matter of hours, she had gone from telling him that she would release him from their marriage to trying to do the one thing that would make that impossible. Maker, what was wrong with her? The only way to annul a marriage in the Chantry was if it was unconsummated, and while Anya would be willing to lie about it, she knew Cullen never could. Whatever they had built since leaving Skyhold, she had destroyed in a matter of minutes. The pillow barely muffled her scream.

She reluctantly rolled from bed, sure that the few hours of sleep she strung together would show on her face. She had no desire to improve her appearance except to ward off any questions or insinuations, but she knew from experience that even magically cooling her face would not hide the dark circles under her eyes. She grabbed her staff and headed to the main floor of the keep to wait for everyone. She was in no mood to sit down and chat during breakfast, and her stomach was too sour to even think about food. She filled up her waterskin from the tapped barrel near the portcullis, drinking a little in the hope of calming her stomach. The water did little to improve her either her stomach or her thoughts, though she was forced to ignore the pain in both when she heard Dorian across the courtyard.

“And here she is, ready to rid the Western Approach of darkspawn! Varric, I believe you owe me two sovereigns and Cullen, you owe your wife an apology for not believing she would be ready on time.”

“Seriously?” Varric asked her incredulously. “The only day I have ever seen you rise with the sun is the day I wager against you. Fine, Sparkler, but I’m taking it off the thirty sovereigns you already owe me.”

Cullen was steadfastly not meeting Anya’s eyes, which stung more than outright hostility.

“Boss, you missed the varghest eggs at breakfast. Big as Varric’s head! Never thought an egg could taste that good. Don’t worry, I ate your share,” Bull said.

Anya tried to school her face into neutrality as she spoke to Rylen. “Give my regrets to Matthieu. I’m sure breakfast was lovely.”

“I…will,” he said, giving her an appraising look.

“You alright, Anya? You’re not looking so great,” Varric asked, and she could feel everyone’s eyes drawn to her. 

She had absolutely no desire to explain the depth of the shame she felt from how royally she had fucked up last night, so she decided to use the most reliable spell she had ever learned to deal with unwanted male concern.

“I’m fine. Just a little _feminine troubles_ ,” she said, holding her hand low over her abdomen. It worked, just like it always had. Everyone except Bull instantly looked away from her, finding either their shoes or the ramparts suddenly intently interesting. As she waited for the portcullis to open, she began mentally counting and realized that her lie may not have actually been as fictional as she thought. She ignored the urge to call the entire day off and climb back into bed as they headed into the desert. Rylen had recommended that they leave their horses behind, given the sulfur pots and the uneven and hastily constructed boardwalks over the rock formations they had discovered in scouting in the area. Anya felt none of yesterday’s interest as they crossed the recently constructed bridge through clouds of sulfuric steam.

The dull grey of the morning desert sand had given way to a brilliant red as the sun rose over the horizon.They reached the ruins in little over an hour, easily dispatching a few small groups of lesser darkspawn that lingered in the area. The looming structure looked from the outside to be in remarkable condition for its age. The pointed towers all remained standing, and only a few sections of stucco had succumbed, exposing the giant stone bricks underneath. Dorian observed that the ruins were likely ancient Tevinter, from the time when the Imperium spread across the continent. At the top of the long staircase leading into the building was a wooden lift hovering over a gaping hole in the stone floor. Varric inspected the pulleys and counterweight, declaring that it was _probably_ safe. The lift covered the entirety of the hole, and it was impossible to see what awaited them underneath. Anya tried to catch Cullen’s eyes, but he was intently watching the lift.

It was somehow decided that Anya and Cullen would descend first, then send the lift back up to Varric, Dorian, and Bull. Anya quietly asked Cullen if he was alright as the lift started down. He nodded almost imperceptibly, though she could see he was trying to hide his nervousness. They emerged into an unexpectedly large room with soaring ceilings and a surprising amount of light streaming through open windows placed nearly at the ceiling. Anya called up to the rest of the men that they had arrived safely and pulled the lever to send the lift back up to them. Cullen was standing as far from her as possible as the mechanism rattled the lift.

“Cullen, about last night…” Anya started.

“There is nothing to discuss,” he said curtly.

Anya flinched at his tone. “I am sorry,” she said, her throat clinching and unable to say anything else. He said nothing even though she knew he had heard her. The creaking of the lift was the only sound breaking the silence that stretched between them. Once their group was together again, they picked their way through the ruins which had clearly been used recently, as the sand had been cleared away in areas revealing smooth, grey stone floors. Rows of bars sets into the stone walls denoted the building’s use as a prison, although it had long since ceased to function as such.

“So Venatori were excavating an ancient Tevinter prison?” Anya asked to the group. “Any ideas why?”

“Maybe they moved on from ancient magisters to ancient convicts,” Varric offered as he pointed out a shambling ghoul wandering toward them.

“Whatever the reason, they appeared to have moved on from here,” Dorian said, easily dispatching the ghoul from a distance with his bolt of electricity in conjunction with Varric’s arrow.

They continued down the hall, killing a few more ghouls without issue. “What I don’t understand,” Anya said as the reached a large room at the end of the hall, “is where all the darkspawn are.”

“Probably around that giant hurlock over there,” Bull pointed with the tip of his greatsword. Anya could barely make out the hurlock alpha over the dunes of sand between them.

“You just had to say it, didn’t you?” Varric said with a smile to Anya.

She smirked back at him and shrugged before turning to Bull, who towered over the rest of the group. “Can you see how many there are?” He counted at least two genlocks and one additional hurlock. Anya nodded. “Okay. Strategy?”

Dorian’s eyes sparkled with barely suppressed mirth as he smiled. “A battle strategy. What an absolutely splendid idea.”

Bull peered up over the sand dune that was hiding their position. “It’s got a decent sized greatsword. That thing will have a wide reach. You three think you can hit it from cover while Cullen and I take care of the rest?”

Electricity crackled across Dorian’s palm. “Leaving the heavy work to us again, I see. Yes, yes. We’ll take down the big brute while you two swing your swords at the stragglers.” 

“Come on, you know you love watching us swing our swords.”

“Is that why you carry around that monstrosity?” Dorian quipped, ostensibly referring to Iron Bull’s greatsword. “Just for show?”

“Oh, it’s _definitely_ not just for show,” Bull smiled, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Save it ’til we get back to the keep, you two,” Varric interceded. “You good with the plan, Curly?”

Cullen nodded, and they moved into position. At Cullen’s signal, Anya and Dorian hit the hurlock alpha and surrounding enemies with with chain lightning as Cullen and Bull rushed in to fight the smaller darkspawn. The alpha bellowed at the attack as Varric unleashed bolts into its neck. It headed for its two closest adversaries as Cullen and Bull were fighting two genlocks and a particularly nasty looking hurlock of their own.

“Dorian!” Anya called, immolating the alpha, which only angered it more.

“Barrier will have to be you!” Dorian called back as he finished casting an energy barrage.

Anya grabbed a lyrium potion from her belt and drank it quickly, casting a barrier on Bull and Cullen as the last of the lesser darkspawn fell, but the alpha wound up for an attack. The two men dodged in opposite directions, each focusing on one of the monster’s hamstrings until it collapsed. Anya and Dorian stopped casting as Bull brought his greatsword down on the alpha’s head, finishing it. He walked back up to Dorian and wrapped his arm around his waist. “See? Not just for show.”

Dorian feigned exasperation at Bull’s attention as Anya used her magic to move boulders and block a tunnel, likely leading to the Deep Roads, whose excavation lead to the darkspawn invasion. They followed a trail of dried-out corpses and the remains of a giant to a crumbling fort atop Echotop Canyon. It looked to have been just as hastily vacated as the other ruins, and Anya discovered a note indicating that the Venatori had withdrawn after Corypheus’ defeat. Since they had not been encountered by scouts, Cullen assumed that they had withdrawn in the direction of the Hissing Wastes.

The group returned to the keep to avoid the midday heat, the sun now high in the sky as temperatures soared. Everyone disbanded, with Cullen claiming he needed to inspect their requisition requests, leaving Anya alone. Her stomach was still unsettled, and she felt familiar cramping in her lower abdomen, seemingly spiting her for her earlier attempt to lie. She headed toward the kitchen in the hopes of finding some food to take back to her room. Matthieu was looking over a menu as his kitchen assistants scrubbed the dishes from the ongoing lunch service. His deep brown eyes flicked momentarily to Anya before returning to his work. “You ignore my breakfast and come into my kitchen during lunch,” he said evenly.

“I sent my apologies with Rylen,” Anya said, trying to keep the exhaustion from her voice as she reflexively put her hand over her stomach. “I’m not feeling well today,”

“Rylen relayed your apologies,” he said coolly but with no air of irritation. His eyes flicked to her again before marking something on the paper in front of him. “You are newly married, yes?”

Anya blushed, which made her feel childish. “Yes, but not _that_ kind of sick. The opposite, actually.”

“Mailyn, brew the Inquisitor some of the amrita vein tea, and see if we have any of the brownies left from last night, if Rylen has not hidden the rest away.” Matthieu set down the paper and finally turned to Anya. “You look capable of assisting me. Come.”

It had been a very long time since anyone outside her inner circle had treated her with anything other than contempt or deference, and Anya appreciated Matthieu’s attitude toward her. She no longer noticed the mental toll it took for her to always be regarded as the Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor or Your Worship, but she most enjoyed the times she could simply be Anya, even if that included kitchen duties. He had her write a list of items they needed as he walked through a magically cooled room storing meat and on through the cellar. Matthieu walked briskly and rarely stopped, causing Anya to rush to keep up with both his orders and his pace. By the time they made it back to the kitchen, there was a mug of tea and a particularly large brownie waiting for her. She thanked both Mailyn and Matthieu, the latter waving off her thanks and telling her to take her food from his kitchen. She had never smelled amrita vein tea, and her first sniff was off-putting.

Matthieu must have seen her wrinkle her nose, because he raised his eyebrow archly. “Yes, it smells horrendous, but it will help.” At her skeptical look, he continued, a fraction more gently. “I learned to cook alongside my mother and four older sisters. You must take me at my word for the tea. And do not let Rylen see that brownie,” he finished pointedly, walking her toward the door. 

Anya thanked him again and carefully made her way back to her room, crawling over the beds to stare out the window as she ate. The tea did not taste quite as bad as it smelled, and somehow brought out the chocolate flavors in the dessert. The strong flavor was at least a distraction from looking at Cullen’s bed and hating herself, but she still twisted her ring in worry. She hoped that he could forgive her, even if she wasn’t certain she deserved his forgiveness. Exhaustion soon overcame her, and Anya could barely keep her eyes open as she placed her dishes on the windowsill. She curled up in her bed and fell asleep without time for another thought.

A loud, throat-clearing cough woke her. Anya turned over to see Cullen standing against the closed door. "It is time for us to leave for the Hissing Wastes,” he said simply. She stretched and looked out the window. The sun was low enough that it had to be later in the afternoon; she must have slept for hours.

“I can be ready in a few minutes,” she said groggily as she rolled unceremoniously across the bed.

“Matthieu…instructed me to give you this,” he said, extending a small tin as Anya swung her legs over the side of the bed. She opened it and smelled the leaves of the amrita vein tea he had given her earlier.

“Must have worked, if I was able to sleep,” she said to herself as she quickly shut the tin.

“You’re feeling better, then?” Cullen asked, looking at her for the first time.

“I will tomorrow, maybe the next day,” she said distractedly as she stood and slipped on her battlemage coat, looking around the room to see if she had left anything else. Her eyes met Cullen’s face, his brows furrowed in concern. “Really, it’s not too bad, so I’m sure it will better tomorrow. I still take the prophet’s laurel tincture that they gave us in the Circle which thins the-“ She clamped her mouth shut. When would she learn to stop talking? She absolutely should not discuss the feminine medicinal properties of prophet’s laurel with him in this very small room still occupied by an overlarge bed where she had practically thrown herself at him last night. “It makes it not so bad,” she finished lamely.

“You are still in pain?” he asked. His concern had increased, despite her explanation.

“It is manageable, I promise. I will take a health potion if necessary.” This finally seemed to appease him, and he turned to leave the room. She spoke quickly before he could open the door. “I am sorry about last night, Cullen. I should never have put you in that position.” There was no point in saying more. Anything else she wanted to say would only hurt them both.

He nodded but said nothing. Rylen saw the group off from the front of the keep, sending them with provisions from Matthieu for their dinner on the road. The heat in the Wastes was worse than the Western Approach, and the best chance of survival was to travel very early in the morning or at night. While it would still be blazing hot until the sun sank below the horizon, the sun could do little to distract Anya from her thoughts of Cullen. Cullen no longer seemed to be avoiding her, so she assured herself that the heat was too oppressive for conversation to explain why he had not spoken to her. No one spoke beyond intermittent incoherent grumblings for the entire length of their journey. The heat only began to dissipate as they arrived at the camp well after nightfall. They were greeted promptly by Charter, one of the Inquisition’s most senior and best agents.

“Nice to see you again, Charter,” Anya greeted her. “You’re a long way from Crestwood.” She had not seen the woman since she left her in command of Caer Bronach, though she knew from her reports to Leliana that she had been kept busy across both Fereldan and Orlais.

“More pressing matters called me here, Inquisitor,” she replied, her elven features inscrutable as ever. “Many of the remaining Venatori have gathered in some Dwarven ruins north of camp. We eliminated a small contingent further east before your defeat of Corypheus, but since then, a number of those who remain have arrived here.”

“How many do they number?” Cullen asked.

“At least twenty, not including the slaves, with eight more exterior guards, but their numbers are not the most concerning issue.” Anya and Cullen exchanged looks before Charter continued. “They are excavating the ruin, but slowly. Incredibly slowly.”

“So, the excavation is giving them difficulty?” Anya asked, confused as to how their slow progress was any more pressing than the fact that they easily outnumbered their group. This would be one of the largest forces they had faced since they had fought at the Temple of Mythal in the Arbor Wilds, and they had brought most of their army with them then.

“They have slaves to make progress enough, but our scouts report that they only take small groups of slaves into the ruin at once, leaving most of them outside.”

“I don’t understand. Why would they bring so many slaves only to not use them?”

“A trap,” Cullen said. “They want us to see the slaves, and they want us to try to rescue them.”

“My thought as well, Commander. They’ve made no effort to hide their activities. They are attempting to draw you in, Inquisitor.”

Anya’s blood ran cold. They weren’t luring the Inquisition. They were luring her.

“Why?” she asked, trying to keep any nervousness from her voice. “Corypheus is finished. This seems to be too much effort for an act of revenge.”

“Corypheus was a means to an end.” Dorian interjected. “The Venatori are obsessed with raising Tevinter to power over the rest of Thedas. That goal did not die with Corypheus, no matter how soundly you defeated him.”

Anya took a deep, calming breath and exhaled. “Okay. So, what are our options?”

“I recommend striking tonight to take them by surprise,” Charter said evenly. “They will know that you have arrived by morning and will be prepared for an attack by then. The ruins are at the base of a large stone formation. A few well placed magic spells could bring the top of the rock face down on top of them.”

Anya nodded. “What about the slaves?”

“Risking a frontal assault would endanger whatever forces we send in. There will be collateral damage either way.”

“We cannot kill them!” Anya exclaimed. “They’re locked in the caravan cages, yes? They’ll stand no chance!”

“It is the most efficient option and secures the safety of the Inquisition’s resources.”

“I will not willfully kill people who have no way to defend themselves,” Anya said forcefully. She looked to the other faces around her and saw nods from Dorian and Varric.

“That is exactly what they expect you to do,” Cullen said grimly. Anya spun to face him, but he continued to Charter. “What does the surrounding terrain look like? Could we get a small group of scouts in to free the slaves before an all out attack?”

Charter pursed her lips. “Only if we move tonight,” she said, motioning to a scout who produced a map. “It would require a group of fighters to engage the guards as a distraction while scouts move around the fortifications and release as many slaves as possible. If all the Venatori fight us at once, we risk severe casualties.” Her eyes held Anya’s.

“We have to try to save the slaves,” Anya said with conviction.

“The Venatori mages will not hesitate to use their slaves for blood magic,” Cullen added. “They’ll need to have a safe escape route, or the Venatori will slaughter them. How many slave enclosures were there?”

“Three, Commander. Here,” she pointed to a spot near middle of the camp, just beyond a second row of barricades that formed a horseshoe around the entrance to the ruin. “These barricades are pressed tightly against a low rock formation, which would be the most discreet way in and out.”

The plan was formed from there. They would leave in one hour. Antivan fire grenades would be used against the front of the barricade once three scouts were in position on the escape route. After the fire draws the guards, Dorian would use magic to cut a path for the scouts and freed slaves before joining the rest of party in fighting. Once the slaves were evacuated and everyone fell back, Anya and Dorian would bring down the rocks above the ruin, trapping everyone inside and crushing anyone still near the entrance.

Everyone dispersed to their preparations. Anya set up their tent without Cullen, who had gone with Charter to gather and brief the scouts. Anya then ensured that they had all the potions they would need for the assault on the Venatori. She made a few additional lyrium potions, though what they already had would likely be sufficient. She took a health potion to ensure that she would be as focused as possible and made a potion to replace it. Cullen approached her as she was finishing the last of the extra regenerative potions she thought might be overkill, but she had crafted anyway. 

“Do you need anything else?” he asked.

She briefly counted through the potions in everyone’s kits and belts even though she knew exactly how many were in each. “No, all the potions are made and ready to go.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked in the same tone he had asked her about battle preparations at the war table. She tried not to take it personally. She failed.

“I took a health potion, so much better.” She gave him a small smile to thank him for his concern, but he only nodded. She took a breath, ready to thank him for supporting him with Charter, but he was already walking away. Swallowing refused to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat, and she counted the potions again, then once more, until Charter said they were ready to depart. She slipped her potion belt around her waist as everyone else gathered their provisions, and they all walked quietly into the night.

The waning gibbous moon hung low in the sky and provided both ample light and ample cover for the party to make their way safely toward the ruin on foot with Charter in the lead. They walked through the shifting sands, passing close to any small rock formations and cutting through the few patches of dry grasses and water-starved trees before they reached what Anya assumed was a shadowy path up the towering red rocks, though she could not even tell it was there while her feet walked it. The firelight from the camp began to glow in the distance, and Charter signaled for everyone to stay low as possible. Dorian and three scouts silently broke away through the shadows of the surrounding rock as they approached their position for the rescue. Anya noticed as they crept along the sand that none of them except Dorian were armed, likely to ensure that they were as silent as possible. It would be impossible for the scouts to be carrying any more than a concealed knife, and she tamped down the worry that began to creep into her consciousness as she looked at the four others near her and the imposing wooden barricades. She thought of the plan again, assuring herself it would work. If it did not work, she had doomed them all.

They stayed in the shadows moving around to the south to the part of the camp farthest from where the slaves were being held. They reached position and waited. Anya counted silently to fifty, the count Charter had instructed should allow the rescue party to ready themselves. Varric and Bull readied their bottles of Antivan fire, the former having the best aim and the latter the best distance. Charter extended her arm, finishing the final five beats of her count in exaggerated motions with her fingers. At her signal, Bull chucked the molten red potion over the first barricade and into the camp, followed shortly by Varric’s potion into the outer barricade. 

Screams erupted from the camp. Anya did a whispered count to seven before unleashing a lighting bolt exploded the main door of the fortification, perfectly timed with Dorian’s spell on the opposite side of camp. If the commotion near them was any indication, Dorian’s spell had drawn little attention. Anya’s group stayed back until Dorian blew a hole in the interior barricade. Anya cast a barrier on her group as they streamed into the area interior courtyard. The spell of burning flesh and sizzling ozone filled the air as Anya cast spells in quick succession at the enemies that were advancing toward them. Varric strafed to the left as Anya joined Dorian away from the main fighting, each casting spells as their fighters launched their attacks. Charter was an incredibly lithe fighter who had thankfully warned everyone that she was skilled in stealth, as Anya nearly set her aflame when she suddenly appeared next to the guard that Anya was preparing to immolate.

“Capture the Inquisitor! Kill the rest!”

Anya saw a large group of Venatori emerging from the ruins and streaming in her direction. She chugged her second lyrium potion and cast Pull of the Abyss on the Venatori to slow their advance. Cullen yelled for Bull and Charter to fall back to protect Anya, though all of them were still deeply engaged in battle. As she cast a barrier, she noticed one of the Venatori, a large man in pale leather armor with extensive scarring on his face, still advancing despite her spell. She cast another immolate that caught the robes of the mages around him but left him untouched. Chain lightning also failed to slow him. Anya could feel her panic bubbling swiftly to the surface as Dorian yelled to her.

“ _Perrepatae!_ He’s a magekiller! Anya, go!” She had never heard fear in Dorian’s voice. They had travelled to a future where the world was ending, they had physically walked the Fade, they had faced dragons, and he had never admitted fear. No matter how he truly felt, he was always ready with a blithe retort or a casually sarcastic comment. His fear now amplified her own as they moved as fast as they could toward their companions while still casting. Anya paused and cast another barrier on their fighters, but before she could move on, she was hit with a static cage spell. She dispelled it and saw the magekiller, close enough to see his blue eyes emotionless as he focused on his prey. He carried a single dagger with the confidence of requiring little else. She cast another immolate, which did nothing to slow his advance. She was separated from Dorian, panic welling inside her throat and chest. 

She swung her staff in wild desperation at the magekiller’s wrist and connected causing the thin blade to fall from his hand. She dove for the blade with her left hand, but her staff was unable to defend her as the pale man’s boot connected with her stomach. She gasped helplessly for air as he grabbed her and wrapped a gloved hand around her throat.

“You will serve my master,” he said without any hint of feeling. 

He effortlessly lifted her as she struggled for breath in terror. She reached for her magic to force push him away, but she found nothing. She could not sense the Fade, could not even sense where the Fade should be. No crackle of magic responded to her call, no power hinted at its presence. There was simply nothing. Her panic was choking her as much as the hand around throat. She flailed her legs at him as he carried her back toward the Venatori, each swing causing his grip to tighten on her throat. Her shaking hands clawed at his wrists, scratching helplessly at the leather and unable to puncture it. 

Anya thought she heard screaming, but the sound was drowned out by the blood pounding desperately in her ears. Her lungs and throat burned like the fire she could not summon. Unable to move her jaw to gasp for air, she was now fully in the grip of panic. He wouldn’t kill her. He would give her to the Venatori and then help them kill her friends. She had failed them. Even if the slaves had escaped, they would be hunted down. She had failed everyone.

 _Maker, save them_ , she silently begged as her vision began to go black. _It’s my fault. Don’t let Cullen blame himself. Please, save him_.

Suddenly, she was on the ground. She gasped, choking as she inhaled sand. Her lungs burned as she rolled over onto her back. As her vision recovered, she could make out what looked like spikes growing from the back of magekiller. She tried to roll away when someone grabbed her. She struggled until she heard Cullen’s voice.

“Anya, it’s me.” She choked on a dry sob as she rested her head on his shoulder. The magekiller was lying motionless in the sand, arrows protruding from his back and crimson pools growing under his stomach and throat. Cullen carried her quickly across the sand, and she heard Dorian shout.

“Anya, you have to cast with me!” Dorian was jogging alongside Cullen as he shoved her staff into her hand. “Now!” 

Cullen spun her around to where she could see vaguely human shapes following them in the distance. In her exhaustion, she grasped to her magic with desperation, and it responded in an unrestrained torrent like nothing she had ever experienced. It was coming in all wrong, but she had no time to consider it. She focused all the energy she had into her shatterstone spell and directed it at the towering rocks. The crack of Dorian’s lightning was completely obscured by the earsplitting boom caused by her spell exploding into the stone. She heard someone screaming, “Run!” before she passed out in Cullen’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is inspired by the Magekiller graphic novel. Marius and Tessa didn’t really fit here, but best assured, she and Charter are still happily together. The perrepatae lore is lacking, so I crafted it based on Marius and why the games have not mentioned their particular skills. The static cage spell came from one of the casting Venatori, since it does not appear that magekillers have any casting ability.


	13. Chapter 13

She heard voices. They were arguing.

Anya tried to open her eyes, but it felt as if her muscles had forgotten how to move. A man was yelling about being a the only mage qualified to make any decisions. That was…Dorian. The woman was yelling about glass and healing wounds. Anya’s brain sluggishly struggled to piece it together.

A very loud voice exclaimed that someone would die if they did not do something _right now_. The voice was very angry. Cullen’s voice. 

The thought of Cullen brought everything rushing back. Charter was with them. They had fought the Venatori…

She was suddenly aware of a stabbing pain in her abdomen. She tried to groan, but all that came out was a dry croak. Cullen called for water, and there was something pushed to her lips. She took a sip and winced as new pain flared in her throat. The pain caused her to open her eyes a sliver to see Dorian crouched down next to her, who smiled as she opened her eyes.

“As much as I adore your flare for the dramatic, it was very inconsiderate to convince your dear Cullen that you were going to die.”

“Sorry,” she croaked, or meant to croak. She made a sound like the undead.

“I am certain he will forgive you in time,” Dorian continued as if he had understood her. “But now our friend Charter needs to remove the shards of tempered glass in your stomach. No more blood magic, yes?” Anya furrowed her brow at Dorian in confusion, and he continued, quicker but gentler. “Anya, darling, you need to assure me that you aren’t going to cast any spells. In your current state, you will very likely kill yourself, not to mention the rest of us.” She made a motion like nodding, and he started to say something else but Charter cut him off.

“The flasks on your belt shattered and are embedded in your skin. The potions absorbed into wounds, which stopped the bleeding but accelerates wound healing. I have to remove the glass now, or it will be trapped under your skin. This will hurt.” Anya raised her head up to look at her stomach and immediately regretted it. Her top had been pulled up and her trousers unlaced to expose at least five shards of glass protruding from her skin. She tensed, causing the pain to flare, and was suddenly lightheaded.

Charter watched her. “Take long, deep breaths. I’ll be as fast as I can,” she said as her eyes flicked above Anya. “Hold her arms so she doesn’t hit me.”

Anya realized that Cullen was kneeling just above her head as she was flat in the sand on top of her battlemage coat. Even in the moonlight, his skin was clearly pale despite the blood splashed over his armor. She wondered how much of it was hers.

Cullen moved beside her and offered her more water. He was watching her intently. She tried to look to Charter, but he stopped her. “Don’t look. Look at me.”

She could hear a soft crackling of fire, and she tried to quell her panic. She kept her eyes on Cullen. She tried her throat, which was still hoarse, and was only able to produce a painful whisper. “Everyone safe?”

“Everyone else in our party is safe,” he replied with an odd tone to his voice that she had no ability to comprehend in her current state. “The slaves have been taken to camp. They all survived.”

Anya exhaled a shaky breath and nodded. “Venatori?”

“The ones that remained were crushed under a rockslide that defies explanation,” he said with hint of a smile.

Anya tried to remember what had happened. The magekiller died, or was likely killed by Varric’s arrows and Cullen’s sword. Then he was carrying her, and Dorian told her to cast…and the magic had rushed to her. It was hungry like nothing she had ever called, begging to be released. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized she had accidentally performed blood magic. She opened her mouth, but Cullen stopped her.

“We can discuss everything later. You need to conserve your energy.” 

Dorian cast a candlelight spell, then Charter declared that she was ready as she knelt beside Anya opposite Cullen. Cullen clasped each of Anya’s hands in his own, concentrating his eyes on Anya’s face.

Anya had been stabbed before. Multiple times, in fact. This was far, far worse. The first, smallest shard came out tolerably, but as Charter dug for the second, Anya whimpered as she clenched her teeth together. She reflexively tried to squirm away from Charter, and the woman tightened her grip on Anya’s hip.

“Tethras, come hold her feet,” Charter ground out. “Two done.”

Anya could hear Varric approaching through the sand. “I know you won’t believe me, but Charter isn’t going to kill you. She knows if she did, there would be a fight for who would get to kill _her_ , though Sparkler and I would let Curly win on principle.”

“Very helpful,” Charter muttered as she worked another piece of glass from Anya’s skin.

Each breath was agony. Anya was shaking from the pain as she desperately tried not to scream, gripping Cullen’s hands so tightly that she was afraid she would break bone. The pain was evident on his face, though he said nothing as he intently held her gaze. His lips were moving, as if he was whispering something to her, but she lacked the capacity to tell what he was saying or if he was even speaking to her at all.

“Last one. Have those potions ready, Pavus,” Charter said quickly as Anya felt a fresh stabbing pain by her left hip. She ground her teeth together, but she was unable to restrain her scream.

Charter finished her gruesome work, and Anya felt liquid being poured on her abdomen. Cullen released one of her hands to lift her head as Dorian was immediately tipped a potion flask against Anya’s lips. She forced herself to drink as she felt more liquid being poured on her abdomen. The familiar warmth of the healing potion spread through her, soothing the damage around her throat, through her abdomen and down her left side. Pain faded into familiar echoes before slowly dissipating. Dorian insisted on a regenerative potion after the first was finished, and Anya refused to allow herself to linger on just how badly she had been hurt.

“Well, I do appreciate you keeping these things interesting,” Dorian quipped as she finished the second potion. “Feeling better?”

Anya nodded weakly as she tried to sit up, but Cullen insisted she rest, which seemed prudent given the swimming in her head. He released her hand and moved behind her as she leaned gratefully against him, only vaguely aware that they were doing this due to Charter’s presence. The lacerations criss-crossing her abdomen were closed and nearly healed, and she thanked everyone for their part in saving her. Everyone waved off her thanks as unnecessary, even Charter, who was still cleaning Anya’s blood from under her fingernails.

Varric stood and brushed the sand off himself as he gave Anya a sad smile. “You know that I have enough stories to fill a library with books at this point, right? You can stop with this shit anytime.”

She echoed his smile as she pulled her shirt back down over her midsection. “Dorian, what was that man? Perry…”

“Ah, _perrepatae_. Magekillers are quite rare in Tevinter since one attempted to kill an archon some years ago, but leave it to my countrymen to delve deeply into their spellbooks in an attempt to kill you.” Dorian adroitly explained that the magekillers were slaves that had undergone a series of spells, likely using blood magic, to become immune to the effects of magic. Though he had no personal experience with the spell, it was supposedly an incredibly magically laborious undertaking. The magekillers often bore scars from the ordeal, like the man they had encountered. When Anya asked about how they could suppress magic, Dorian’s confidence subtly faltered. Anya tried to explain the feeling of being disconnected from the Fade as briefly as possible, though Dorian’s academic curiosity proved difficult to dissuade. He asked increasingly probing questions to Anya’s increasingly brusk answers. That he was unable to unravel the mystery of such magic was temporarily more important than her fatigue.

“And you are certain that you hadn’t exhausted your magic?”

“I know what it feels like to exhaust my magic. It was like the Fade wasn’t even _there_ , Dorian.”

He looked prepared to ask another question, though as she watched him look from her to Cullen and back, he breathed the question out, unspoken. “Well, fortunate for all of us that he and his master lie dead under a mountain’s worth of stone, then.” He patted her shoulder affectionately as he stood. “Let us know when you are ready to return to camp, will you?”

Even the idea of walking back to the Inquisition camp was exhausting. Only a handful of times in her life had Anya ever pushed past the limit of her magic, but every time it left a weariness that lingered past when her magic abilities had recovered. _Blood magic must have amplified the effect_. The thought made her shiver slightly, causing her to realize she was still leaning against Cullen. “I didn’t mean to use blood magic,” she told him softly without turning to face him.

“I know,” he responded just as quietly. 

She swallowed. “I couldn’t fight him. You saved my life.”

“I saw you fight him, Anya. There are some fights that you cannot win alone.”

The moment stretched in the ensuing silence. Anya wanted desperately to close her eyes and fall asleep against him. Whatever awkwardness between them from the previous night had melted away, left behind with her blood that had spilled in the sand. She was safe, here with him, but they needed to return to camp. She sighed as she looked down at her bloodied clothes and slashed laces. Charter must have cut the laces to remove the glass.

Anya whispered her predicament to Cullen, who offered his own protective belt to replace hers, which was nowhere to be found and likely beyond repair regardless. He helped her stand as she tried to maintain some shred of dignity, awkwardly holding her waistband until she could fasten his belt around her. She summoned all the energy she could and assured everyone she was ready to return to camp, and they set off with Charter in the lead.

Anya focused on her steps on the shifting sands, doing her best not to allow her tired muscles to cause her feet to drag. No one mentioned her slow progress, and Cullen stayed silently beside her. She had survived yet another attempt on her life, yet felt only weariness that ran deeper than her exhausted magic. She thanked the Maker that she had suffered the worst of the suffering that night and that everyone around her was relatively unharmed, and with Bull having defended the slaves’ journey to their camp, she was certain they were safe as well. Anya wondered what they would want to do with their freedom, return to Tevinter or stay with the Inquisition…surely they had space for them now that some of the templars had left Skyhold. The Inquisition could offer them paid positions once they recovered, or train them to fight if they…

She stumbled as her foot stuck in the sand, and Cullen caught her before she fell. She brushed off his concern and kept walking as she mentally counted her steps to maintain her focus, which worked until somewhere around five hundred, when she stumbled again. Cullen called for everyone to stop, and Anya was unwilling to argue. They made their way to a small rocky outcropping to wait while Charter agreed to fetch their horses from camp. No one spoke, and Anya realized that no one else had likely slept since they set out early in the morning from Griffon Wing Keep. In the shadows of the rock, she was unsure who began snoring, but it caused her to smile before she leaned against the rocks and closed her eyes.

Cullen awoke Anya sometime later as Bull approached leading Varric’s and Cullen’s horses in addition to his own. “Charter and the rest of the scouts are helping get the slaves settled. Turns out a one-eyed Qunari was ‘unsettling’ to them,” he said as he dismounted. “Boss, how you doing?”

Anya stretched awkwardly and stood reluctantly. “Not dead, so not too bad. Thank you for bringing the horses, Bull.”

“Three was all I could manage. Figured you and Dorian can ride with Cullen and me, unless Varric wants to sandwich between me and Dorian,” his tone clear though his expression was lost to the dark.

Varric chuckled as he mounted his horse. “Only in your wildest dreams, Tiny,” he said, eliciting an even deeper chuckle from Bull and a scoff from Dorian.

Cullen wordlessly assisted Anya onto his horse before joining her. She sat as forward as was comfortable in the saddle, though Cullen’s body still pressed against hers, his hands resting on her hips to steady himself as his horse followed the others toward camp. His presence comforted her as they made their way through the quiet desert night, but the silence only gave her time to ruminate on how close she had come to death. She had thrown herself into the role of Inquisitor, though she had little choice in the matter, but now she was tired. A deep, unrelenting exhaustion that would stay with her well after her body and her magic had recovered. She was tired of fearing for her life. She had thought that she would be done constantly risking her life once Corypheus had been defeated. Thought that she would never again have to worry that she had lead her friends to their death. 

But she had been wrong. There always seemed to be another rift to close or mysterious evil to be thwarted. This was not what she had imagined for herself when she looked out the windows of the Ostwick Circle and imagined herself out in the world. She had wanted to taste freedom and adventure, and now she had lived enough in these past months to be satiated for the rest of her life. She hadn’t been safe in the Circle, and she rarely felt safe outside it. She sighed and unconsciously slumped forward slightly in the saddle, her mind suddenly as weary as her body.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked.

Perhaps if she had been less tired, she would have been ready with a lie. “This wasn’t what I thought my life would be like outside of the Circle.” He gave no response, and she continued. “Every day I thought about what it would be like to leave and visit the places described in the histories in the library. Sometimes I convinced myself that I could live as an apostate, though I think deep down I knew that I would never go through with it. I just…wanted out of the Circle. I wanted more freedom.

“I thought about running away when I heard I was chosen to attend the Conclave,” she said, her voice softer as she admitted what she had never spoken aloud. “I would just slip away on the journey, and no one would have even known to look for me until it was too late to catch me. There was a moment in the woods on the way to the Temple, where the morning sun was streaming through the trees. I could hear the birds singing, and it was so beautiful that I stopped the cart and told the driver I would walk from there. It was as if the forest was calling to me, begging me to stay and breathe and just _be_.” The tears unexpectedly pricked at her eyes, and she steadied herself as she blinked them away. “But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just leave. I had to _try_ to help the Conclave succeed. So I walked the rest of the way to the Temple in the cold… I suppose you know the rest.”

“Where would you have gone, if you had disappeared that day?” Cullen asked her after a moment.

“To the Dales, if I could make it over the Frostbacks or over to the Brecilian Forest. I thought I would pretend to be Dalish.” It sounded even more foolish when she spoke the words aloud.

“You were going to pretend to be Dalish?” he asked slowly.

“I just meant that I was going to, you know, wear my cowl at all times, and not be an _obvious_ human apostate. I thought if I was in an area with Dalish clans, people might not immediately rush to assume ‘escaped apostate’ if they saw me or anything I left behind.” She sighed. “I never said it was a great plan, but I wasn’t convinced that the mages and templars would ever reach an accord. It felt like everything was spinning out of control, and I had no idea how I would survive it.”

“I felt the same way after the explosion in Kirkwall. Everything was thrown into chaos. I poured myself into the rescue effort. During the day, there was little time to think of much else, but at night, there were times…when all my efforts felt futile.”

“But you stayed. I doubt you lay awake at night thinking of how you could pretend to be Dalish.”

“True. But I admit there were a few nights when I only stayed because I felt had no other option. I don’t recall my time in Kirkwall fondly, but working with Cassandra and Varric brought me to the Inquisition. I thank the Maker for that.”

“You’re still thankful?” Anya asked doubtfully. “After the wife you were forced to marry nearly crushed every bone in your hands because she just as nearly almost got herself killed?”

She could hear the warmth of his smile in his reply. “As I recall, there was no one holding a sword to my back at the Redcliffe chantry.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, smiling and much less exasperated than she expected to be. “Surely this isn’t how you imagined your time in the Inquisition would be.”

She could feel him shift slightly behind her, his hands still on her hips. He cleared his throat gently. “There has been little I have experienced since joining the Inquisition that is as I expected, but there is nowhere I would rather be, Anya.”

Little had been what she expected either, especially the man sitting behind her. “I’m glad you’re here, Cullen.” She smiled but was unable to contain her yawn.

He urged her to rest, assuring her that he would get them safely to camp. She did not doubt him, and she offered no protest. He took the reins from her hands as she leaned back lightly against him. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank you,” and while she truly meant to sleep, she could not. Anya was only partially successful in convincing herself that it was due to the rigidity of the armor she had made him and nothing to do with her lips being a tilt of her head away from the stubble trailing down Cullen’s neck or the way he smelled like sweat and leather and something subtly earthy. He had made his feelings about intimacy clear last night, and while she had no intention of repeating that mistake, she had missed the way she felt as a man whom she trusted held her. She felt blissfully safe and contented to stay like this for as long as possible.

She was unsure how long she stayed like that; she was only sure that it wasn’t enough. She opened her eyes when Varric called over his shoulder, “Looks like you have a welcome party, Inquisitor.”

Anya straighted and saw through gritty eyes Charter and the rescued slaves standing together at the edge of camp. Everyone was watching her approach, so Anya hid her inner disappointment at her truncated repose. Watching her were a few humans, but the rest were elves, all dressed in clothing fitting their status in Tevinter society. Most were around Anya’s age, and she saw a few were looked young enough to be adolescents. Eyes were briefly drawn to Bull and Dorian, though none of their features betrayed their thoughts. The group watched as Cullen assisted Anya from his horse. Her eyes met his, and Anya thought she felt his hands lingering on her waist before he stepped behind her.

Charter stepped forward, and Anya walked slowly toward her. “They insisted on being here to greet you, Inquisitor.”

The slaves bowed their heads at Anya’s approach, but before she could say anything, Dorian quickly stepped to her side. “A word, Inquisitor?”

She furrowed her brow quizzically as he whispered to her and Cullen. “I know what you are going to say, but you need to be aware that all of these slaves will have just been inherited by various influential members of Tevinter society. Before you go making any promises, please keep that in mind.”

“They are not _property_ , Dorian. They are people who have been held in cages in the desert,” she ground out. They had discussed slavery in Tevinter a few times, and while each conversation had made Dorian more critical of the practice, he did not yet match Anya’s impassioned opposition. 

He gave her a tight smile. “Not in the eyes of the Imperium. And yes, I can see you are quite prepared to argue the point with me, but let’s not revisit that again, shall we? I am simply informing you that if you take these poor creatures back to join the Inquisition, should any of their new masters learn that they are alive and decide to press the matter, the Imperium will consider you to be in possession of stolen property.”

Anya’s mouth moved silently before she pressed her palms hard against her forehead. She didn’t have the capacity to handle this right now. “Dorian, you know that I am not going to force them to go back to Tevinter. Where else could they go?” 

“Skyhold could accommodate them,” Cullen interjected. “Likely the slaves will be assumed to have perished along with the Venatori. I doubt there would be much investigation into the matter.”

“Ah, we are planning to force them to live in the frigid mountains far from the only home they have ever known, then? So all that talk about ‘agency over their lives’ was a purely academic argument?”

“They will decide,” Anya snapped, “in the morning.” Dorian relented and offered to write to his friend Maevaris Tilani to see if she could be of assistance in finding safe places for any of the slaves who did not want to go to Skyhold. Cullen assured her that he would take care of notifying Josephine once they finalized the numbers they should expect at Skyhold. Anya confirmed with Charter that they had sufficient supplies and space for everyone, at least for the night. Anya spoke to the crowd, asking them to sleep and that they could make plans for their future in the morning. The slaves were understandably hesitant, and Anya forced her eyes to stay open as she focused on getting them to rest instead of presenting all their options for their futures. By the time she finally made it to the tent she shared with Cullen, she collapsed onto her bedroll, unaware of whether he had even joined her.


	14. Chapter 14

The sun searing her face woke Anya. She tried lying on her stomach and curling up in part of the tent that did not have a gaping hole in the roof, but not even her exhaustion could overcome the heat. She sat up and noticed that she was still wearing her bloodstained clothes, groaning before changing and leaving the tent in search of water.

Anya headed toward the slivers of shade still clinging to the rocks above camp. Charter found her as she filling her waterskin, informing her that Cullen and Dorian had gone to the cave just outside of camp where some of the former slaves had slept. Anya found them talking over options, though the discussion stopped at Anya’s approach. Cullen told her that the majority had expressed interest in joining the Inquisition, though a few were not willing to risk the journey. Dorian had already penned a letter to Maevaris, which he heavily implied was at Cullen’s insistence, and he expected her to be willing to at least receive the returning contingent at her home. There was nothing left for Anya to do but thank them both for their quick work. She thanked the group joining the Inquisition for their trust and wished those returning to Tevinter a lifetime of safety and security.

“I really appreciate you getting their destinations settled,” Anya told Cullen as they left the cave to make the transportation arrangements with Charter, “but did you even sleep last night?”

“I did get some sleep,” he said, which Anya interpreted as a few hours or less. She was ready to admonish him when he continued. “There is another matter we need to discuss. We have been summoned to Val Royeaux.”

Anya frowned. “Summoned or invited?”

“The Right Hand of the Divine has informed us that we need to see her as soon as we are able,” he said with a tone to his voice indicating that he did not appreciate the summons in the least. “She asks for you and me, specifically.”

“Oh.” Chantry business requiring only the two of them would have to concern their marriage. Anya ignored the pit forming in her stomach. “We are what, two or three days from Val Royeaux? Have you written her yet?”

“I wanted to talk to you first,” Cullen responded. “Charter has a raven waiting to take the message.”

Anya nodded absently. They would need to leave in the afternoon if they wanted any chance of making it to Val Foret before it was dark. It would be an unpleasant journey in the heat. “Do you think we should leave today?”

“Madame de Fer does not like to be kept waiting,” he said, his features tight. “It would likely be in our best interests to see her as soon as possible.”

Anya agreed with his reasoning, though she was almost certain that Vivienne would not hold tardiness against them, especially since they had recently rescued trapped slaves and fought a large group of Venatori. Anya was unsure what pressing business the Right Hand of the Divine could have with them. Surely Vivienne wouldn’t question their marriage? She was a staunch proponent of the Circles, but she wouldn’t force Anya to return to the Circle now that she was married…would she? Anya’s stomach turned at the prospect.

After Cullen sent the raven, Anya suggested he get some rest. She refused to accept his excuse that he needed to review their expected route with Charter, insisting she would handle it. She had taken the route the first time she had visited the Hissing Wastes, but she welcomed a chance to refresh her memory. The Inquisition had no camps until the crossroads of the Imperial Highway, much closer to Val Royeaux, so they would either have to stay at the inn in Val Foret or camp. On her previous journey, the inn in Val Foret had barely been able to accommodate her party, and they had to settle for four people sharing a room with a single bed which was so uncomfortable that everyone had slept on the floor. Despite this, Anya hesitated to take any tents from camp besides the one she and Cullen had brought, since there were now more people in camp than it could accommodate. Charter assured her that they could spare a few tents, as new Inquisition members would be moved to Griffon Wing Keep before heading to Skyhold. Satisfied with this, Anya secured two tents in addition to their own, deconstructing them as quickly as possible so that she could quickly escape the heat.

Anya was cooling herself with her magic when she found Cullen, the rest of her party, and a few scouts in a cove on the opposite side of camp from the former slaves’ larger cave. Cullen was sitting against the wall at the front of the cove talking to Varric, and Cullen ducked his head as she approached. Dorian called her over, eager to discuss the _perrepatae_ that had nearly killed her last night. She told him again all she could remember, including how she had been unable to cast at all. Bull’s intermittent soft snoring did nothing to dampen Dorian’s enthusiasm. 

“The _perrepatae_ are incredibly rare, but the idea of being completely cut off Fade is _fascinating_ ,” Dorian said, eyes alight with curiosity.

“I assure you, it was less _fascinating_ when I was losing consciousness,” Anya rebutted. Had it even occurred to him that she had nearly died?

He waved off the near fatality of her encounter. “Cullen would have never have let you die. The man would have charged into the Fade and pulled you out himself like some sort of hero in that dreadful serial of Varric’s.” He ignored the look she gave him; none of the scouts were even listening to them. “Now back to our magekiller…You said it was something beyond exhausting your magic. But you still felt emotions, yes?”

“Yes, Dorian! I was panicked and choking to death!”

“So, not something akin to the Rite of Tranquility then, if your emotions were unaffected. To somehow mask the presence of the Fade would take a great deal of power, but had to work only at incredibly close range. My casting was unaffected.”

“How nice for you,” Anya muttered.

“It was very nice for me. I quite enjoy using my magic, especially when facing the Venatori.” He smiled at her, turning a bit more serious. “You are feeling better now, yes? Your magic has fully recovered?”

“I _am_ feeling better, Dorian. Thank you _so much_ for asking,” she replied, unable to stop the smile forming on her face.

Dorian smiled magnanimously. “Of course. I am nothing if not attentive to the needs of my closest friend. Now, there are very few spells that can actually suppress magic…”

Anya sat down and leaned against the rock wall as she humored Dorian’s ongoing curiosity, though his knowledge of the subject was much deeper than her own. The Chantry had offered little opportunity to learn of spells that restricted magic, no matter how much Anya had wanted to be able to prepare herself in the face of such spells. Dorian made notes for himself for when he could return to the Skyhold library and a list of tomes he would request either Leliana or Josephine to locate. Varric joined them and sat next to Anya, offering a smiling apology that he had bored her husband to sleep. 

Cullen remained at the front of the small cave, his arms resting on his knees with his face buried. Anya chatted with Varric, surreptitiously glancing at Cullen to watch for any sign of nightmares. At least, she thought she was being surreptitious. 

“You worrying about him?” Varric asked.

She nodded. “There’s no way he slept more than a few hours last night.”

“Surprised either of you were able to sleep with that tent of yours,” he mused, smiling knowingly at her. “You feeling tired? I could tell you the same story I told Curly. A fascinating tale of a paperwork mix-up in the Merchants’ Guild. Instead of triplicate, the requisition forms were filled out in duplicate! Can you imagine?”

She smiled. Varric had an uncanny knack for weaving just the right story. “How long did he listen before he fell asleep?” 

“He made it to the messenger realizing he left his bag, so he had to return to the inn and perform a thorough search of his room, only to find the bag sitting by the door. Leave it to Curly to set a new record. Not sure where I was going to go with the story after that. Maybe the guy needed to adjust his horse’s saddle or something.”

“Maybe a thrown horseshoe?”

“Nah, too dramatic. This Inquisitor life has made you forget how to be boring.” He put his hands behind his head and leaned back against the wall. “You don’t always have to be the daring Inquisitor, you know. Maybe it’s time for you to take a little break, do something boring. Have a picnic somewhere with a nice breeze and no bears or spiders or Venatori breathing down your neck. At least let me catch up on getting your story written down.”

Anya sighed. “That sounds nice, Varric, but you’ve seen the war table. There will be a thousand things waiting for me at Skyhold.”

Varric chuckled. “I’m not saying you need to retire and hang up that magic hand of yours. Just take some time, do something fun. Listen, the Breech is closed. We just took out most of what was left of the Venatori. When we get back to Skyhold, just tell your advisors that you need a few days. I know least one who won’t take much convincing.”

As if aware that they were talking about him, Cullen jerked slightly in his sleep. Varric told Anya to think about what he had said as he closed his eyes to get some more sleep. With Dorian also now attempting sleep, Anya was left as the only one besides the scouts awake. She easily persuaded herself that they would expect her to be sitting by her husband, so she went to sit next to Cullen. He seemed fast asleep, and she allowed herself to close her eyes.

She awoke when Cullen stirred, and though he seemed surprised to find her there, he welcomed the company. He stood and stretched before asking her about their route as Anya was momentarily distracted by the sliver of skin showing above Cullen’s belt as he stretched. He thankfully took her stammering for forgetfulness, and Anya was able to collect herself enough to not seem a complete fool. He asked her multiple questions about their route, which would have bothered her weeks ago, but she now knew that he was mentally preparing for their journey.

The late afternoon heat was as oppressive as the day before, and no one spoke until the sand gave way to dry grasses and then to the edge of the sparse forest just before nightfall. Varric shared Anya’s aversion for staying in Val Foret, unwilling to continue on in the dark just to risk sharing the single room again. They found a small glade just off the main road in the last vestiges of dusk. Dorian started a fire as they unloaded the horses. Anya pulled the rolled tent off her horse and turned to see Cullen. Her eyes widened as she belatedly realized her mistake. “I only packed three tents.”

It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be no scouts to deceive and therefore no reason that she should not sleep in her own tent. After the disastrous night at Griffon Wing Keep, the idea that she would try to force Cullen to share a tent with her was mortifying. Cullen shifted uncomfortably, and Anya’s mouth hastily began an explanation. “I’m so sorry, Cullen! I didn’t even think about it. It was so hot, and I was worried about how many tents we were taking, even though Charter said it was fine but some of the elves were staying until Tevinter, so of course they would need some tents even if most of them were going to the Keep and I was just so used to…I can share with Varric,” she said, clamping her mouth shut as her cheeks burned.

Cullen cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary.”

But Anya was certain that it _was_ necessary, because the last time she had fallen asleep next to him, she had wound up with her tongue down his throat, and she had spent more time on their journey today thinking about that kiss than she cared to admit. “I’m sure Varric won’t mind, and then you’ll have the whole tent to yourself.” She dumped the tent into Cullen’s arms and went to Varric, who was finishing setting up his own tent. She explained to him her error and asked if she could share with him. He gave her a quizzical look but told her she was welcome to share his tent if she didn’t mind his snoring. She thanked him and finished helping him with the tent. Bull and Dorian were already relaxing by the fire, and Anya joined them, though she immediately regretted it.

“You not sharing a tent with Cullen?” Bull asked, straight to the point.

“I didn’t bring a tent for me.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re not sharing with Cullen.” 

“I think he would appreciate having the tent to himself for a night,” she responded, trying to end the conversation.

Bull chuckled. “He said that did he? Cullen!” he called across the fire, where the blond was finishing setting up his tent. “Did you ask Anya for some _alone time_ tonight?” He smiled as Dorian playfully swatted his arm.

Cullen raised his head from his task and gave Bull a flat look. “It has nothing to do with what you’re implying, Bull.”

“I’m just surprised it took you this long. Might need to get a few of the Chargers some of that templar willpower training.”

Cullen sighed as he finished with the final stake and walked over to the fire. “Templars spend years training in the art of self discipline, and while I’ve found the training has remained useful even after leaving the Order, I have a feeling the Chargers would be resistant to such training,” he said with an eyebrow quirked at Bull.

Bull broke into a wide smile. “Good to see you haven’t lost those skills in reading soldiers, Commander.”

“And now that you have left the Templars,” Dorian interjected smoothly, “you can loosen your grip on that self control. Anya, darling, why don’t you fetch that wine you still have packed away?”

Anya opened her mouth to protest, but Cullen beat her to it. “I don’t think wine is necessary tonight, Dorian.”

“That is just the sort of attitude that requires wine,” Dorian replied. “If not for you, then most certainly for me.” He inclined his head expectantly at Anya.

“C’mon, Curly,” Varric goaded. “If there is anything that deserves celebrating, it is our dear Inquisitor surviving yet another attempt on her life.”

Cullen looked at Anya, and something silent passed between them. “That certainly deserves celebrating,” he said as he held her gaze.

Anya felt something akin to the warmth of the wine before even retrieving it from her pack. Varric produced a stack of cups which he casually remarked were courtesy of Rylen, who wanted to ensure that they never had a reason not to drink. Dorian had faint praise for the vintage that Anya had selected, though that did not keep from asking Anya to fill his cup. Once everyone else had wine, she finished filling her own cup, and Varric raised his in a toast.

“To Anya, who has managed to survive some of the weirdest shit I have ever seen and is more than deserving of one night, or six, drinking her cares away.”

Anya tried to pace herself, unwilling to risk another uncomfortable situation between herself and Cullen, but she quickly found herself feeling pleasantly relieved of her worries. Conversation flowed as easily as the wine, and she was soon retrieving the final bottle she had packed. The conversation eventually took a turn as everyone began telling increasingly ribald stories, even Cullen, who surprised Anya with an anecdote about happening upon two soldiers enjoying each other’s company one night on the ramparts of Skyhold. Cullen had tried to avert his eyes when he told them to go elsewhere, but the one man was so flustered that he saluted, causing his trousers to drop to his ankles. The visual sent Anya into a giggling fit, laughing until tears streamed down her face. By the time she collected herself, she was happy to see that Cullen shared some of her amusement.

“Did you say anything the next time you saw them?” she asked, fanning her face.

He chuckled, more at her attempts to contain herself than at his own story. “I pretended absolutely nothing had happened. Even soldiers are entitled to a bit of fun when off duty, though there are better places than just outside their commander’s office.”

Anya grabbed his arm in disbelief. “They were right outside _your office_?!”

“I found a forgotten belt on the stones when I left the next morning,” he smirked. This sent her into fresh laughter. She fanned her face again, sure that her cheeks were as red as they felt. Cullen watched her with an unrelenting smile which unfairly threatened her composure.

She blinked, her brow furrowing. “What’s that noise?”

“You forget how Varric snores when he’s had enough wine?” Bull asked, Dorian perched on his lap.

“That’s Varric?” Anya was incredulous. She hadn’t even noticed him leave the campfire.

“Of course that’s Varric,” Dorian said, his vowels and consonants much closer together than usual. “If you were expecting to sleep in that tent, you either need much more wine or much more wine.”

“You’ve already finished the wine,” Bull observed.

“Have I?” Dorian asked, examining the empty bottle in his hand. 

Bull stood, easily lifting Dorian. “…Which means it is time for you to go to sleep.” Bull bid Anya and Cullen a good night above Dorian’s mumbling Tevine as he wrapped his arms around Bull’s neck. Anya watched them go with quiet jealousy.

“Moving your bedroll will be the only option that affords you any sleep,” Cullen told her. As if to punctuate his point, Varric snorted particularly loudly. Cullen assured Anya that he did not mind, and she tried to comport herself as soberly as possible as she crept into Varric’s tent. She iced the campfire, then made her way in the dark to unfurl her her bedroll at the foot of Cullen’s. She did not trust her wine-loosened lips, so she said a quick, “Good night, Cullen,” and begged her body for sleep, which the wine blissfully granted.

They left at what Anya considered to be an early hour in the morning, but their journey to the crossroads north of Val Royeaux still took until nightfall, even though nothing unexpectedly delayed them. As she was helping Cullen set up their tent, Anya realized that this might be the last time that they used this tent together. She had spent the day trying desperately not to think of their impending meeting with Vivienne, and now it drove everything else from her mind. She aimlessly perused requisition requests, giving up after reading the brazier request from Emprise du Lion for a fourth time and still not remembering how much dawnstone was required. She began to craft potions, but her first health potion was a dull shade of orange instead of a vivid red. She trashed it and wandered to the campfire.

Cullen caught her eye as she approached, informing her that Vivienne had taken the liberty of scheduling a meeting with them tomorrow afternoon. There was no further information on the content of the meeting, only that they were to meet at the Grand Cathedral. Dorian was unwilling to waste an opportunity to visit Val Royeaux, and it was agreed that they would leave early the next morning to make the short trip into the Orlesian capital. Cullen and Anya said little before they retired to their tent, with Anya unwilling to voice her worries for the following afternoon in front of the entire camp. Sleep eluded her as she thought of increasingly dire scenarios for tomorrow afternoon. She was wondering if she would be returned to Ostwick, far from everyone and everything she had grown to love these past months, if her marriage was dissolved and she was remanded to the Circle when she heard Cullen whisper, “You’re not asleep.”

She barely contained her gasp. “Maker save me! I thought you were asleep,” she whispered harshly.

“Something on your mind?” he asked softly.

Discussing deep, stomach-churning fears wasn’t the sort of pillow talk she preferred, though she had little practice in the subject. She and Blackwall had rarely talked about anything serious when they lie together in bed and had certainly never discussed emotions, let alone fears. “It’s nothing,” she said, expecting him to turn away and leave her to ruminate in her worry. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully and stayed facing her, his face barely visible in the moonlight. She sighed and turned on her back. When she could no longer bear the silence, she whispered to the dark, “I’m worried about tomorrow.” At his questioning, she admitted that she worried that their marriage would be annulled and that she would be sent to the Circle. 

“Why would you think Vivienne is going to annul our marriage?” he asked, sitting up.

“Why else would she make us, _only_ us, come to the Grand Cathedral?”

“Likely to confirm that you are exempt from returning to the Circle and to discuss the ongoing threats the Inquisition is fighting,” Cullen responded. “You thought the meeting was about our marriage?”

Her anxiety faltered. “Then why exclude Bull, Dorian, and Varric?”

“They were not excluded, just not specifically invited. Vivienne may not even be aware that they are traveling with us. Did you think the Divine exempt you from the Circle for less than a week before forcing you to return?” His tone was insistent but gentle.

Put that way, the actualization of her fear did sound improbable, though she had too much that she held dear that she did not want to lose. The freedom to see Thedas, to learn and cast magic unrestricted, to talk to Cullen softly in the dark. She sighed and dropped her voice to a breath above a whisper. “I don’t want to go back to Circle.”

“I know,” he said, shifting nearly imperceptibly in the dark, “and I will do everything in my power to keep you from returning. I am your commander and your husband. It is my duty to protect you.”

Anya took small solace in Cullen being committed to duty, because if he had said anything else in that gentle yet ardent tone, she would not have been able to maintain the space between them. Because it would have been too easy to imagine that he cared for her, and maybe even that he loved her, and that would have been too great a temptation for her to resist.


	15. Chapter 15

The sun shone brightly as they made their way toward the the gates of Val Royeaux. Towering statues set into intricate alcoves lined the path approaching the gate. Anya hated the blank stares of the statues as much today as she had upon her first visit to the Orlesian capital. The feeling of being watched tarnished the rest of the carefully crafted beauty on the approach to the entrance of the city, from the intricately laid designs on the stone path to the perfectly manicured ivy sprawling high above their heads.

“So, Curly, first impressions of Val Royeaux?” Varric asked.

Cullen looked as if he was enjoying it as much as Anya. “It is…quite obviously Orlesian.”

Varric gave a dry chuckle. “Coming from you, that’s a damning assessment.”

Dorian had his own thoughts on the architecture, which he gladly shared as they made their way into the city. Varric had guild business to conduct after booking passage for everyone and their horses on the ferry that crosses the Waking Sea, and Dorian and Bull were anxious to spend the day sampling the best cakes and drinks they could find. They all agreed to meet at the Purple Cormorant, a tavern near the Grand Cathedral, after Anya and Cullen had finished their meeting with Vivienne. The other men wished them luck and left them alone. Anya offered to show Cullen what she knew of the sights of Val Royeaux, and he unenthusiastically agreed. 

Anya tried to make herself inconspicuous, but she was still greeted with bows and whispers as she made her way to the market. She had forgotten how much she hated it.

“Is it always like this?” Cullen asked after yet another man stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, bowing so low that the tip of his mask almost touched the ground.

“The first time a came here, it was just whispering. It got worse after we went to the Winter Palace. I’m hoping we can be more discreet after we get through the Summer Market,” she said, turning down yet another alley to avoid the crowded streets. The market was indeed busy, and they were able to pass through in anonymity until one of the merchants stepped in her path as she passed by his shop.

“Ah, Madame Inquisitor! You grace us with your presence again! And this must be your husband, yes?” Anya gave the man a tight smile and quick nod. “Commander Rutherford! A pleasure, ser, to make your acquaintance. Julien Pelletier, at your service. May I offer you my most sincere felicitations on your marriage?” Cullen nodded with restrained politeness as the man continued unabated. “Your wife will of course speak to the quality of the furniture I offer, having purchased her bed from me, and beautiful, is it not? But of course, you are newly wed, and perhaps you are looking to purchase a new bed, to celebrate your union?”

Cullen gave up the pretense of being polite. “No.”

“Ah, but of course, it is a beautiful bed. Exquisitely crafted. You will never need another. Perhaps custom draperies or banners to celebrate your auspicious marriage?”

Cullen’s mood looked to be further souring, so Anya interjected in an effort to keep the merchant from gushing about their marriage to the entire market. “Can I see the draperies you have available?”

“Yes! Yes! The finest draperies from all corners of Thedas…” he droned on as he led them into his shop, though Anya ignored most of what he said as she browsed the draperies. Most were dreadfully ornate or disgustingly garish, but there was one that caught her eye.

“What do you think of this one?” she asked Cullen, running her fingers down the thick golden fabric.

“The Fereldan one?” he asked, surprised.

“Ah, yes, an understated choice,” the merchant cooed, “but I do offer customization options to make it more worthy of…”

“Cullen is from Ferelden,” Anya said with finality.

“Yes! Yes! Of course, and what a romantic gesture it will be…” He continued as Anya hurriedly counted the gold needed to complete the transaction and get them out of the shop as the merchant assured them that he would send the draperies to Skyhold with utmost haste. Cullen followed her as they picked their way through the market and down a twisting alleyway to low wall between two buildings overlooking the inlet leading to the Waking Sea. There were a few boats moored on the docks below, but otherwise, they were alone.

“I’m sorry I’m not much of a guide to Val Royeaux,” Anya said as they both looked out over the water. “I hate it here. I always feel like I’m a curiosity on display, like some taxidermied nug. But Josie brought me to this spot once, and I just thought it was so beautiful and…”

“Peaceful?” Cullen offered, and she nodded before he continued. “I’ve never enjoyed large cities, and certainly not Orlesian ones.” They were both quiet for a moment as they looked out over the water, watching the boats bob slowly up and down on the waves. “Why did you chose the Fereldan drapery?”

Anya could feel a blush creep down her neck, and she maintained her interest in the water. “It was the one I liked the best. It wasn’t elaborate, and it reminded me of a sunset, very calming. And…Ferelden feels more like home than the Free Marshes ever did.”

She had surprised him again. “Aren’t you planning to return to the Free Marshes when the Inquisition ends?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t planned anything, but there’s nothing in Ostwick I miss. I don’t have any reason to go back.” It had been difficult envisioning her life after the Inquisition, but she allowed herself to be drawn to the future as an exhilarating buzz of emotion bubbled in her chest. She turned to Cullen. “Have you thought about what you’ll do when the Inquisition ends?”

He gave a crisp nod. “I want to help the templars who are trying to stop taking lyrium and find a safe place for those who have lost their minds to it. The Chantry does little to help them. Cassandra and I have spoken about it in the past, before she became Divine. Perhaps when the time comes, the Chantry will be more open to helping those who are suffering because of their sacrifice.” His passion was evident in his voice, and Anya’s heart swelled. She had seen how Cullen had suffered with lyrium withdrawal and had heard stories of how bad it could be, of former templars addled with addiction and begging on the streets. It was not something she wished on even her worst enemy, and if it was for Cullen, she would willingly help templars outside the Circle.

“It’s a wonderful idea, Cullen. I’d love to help any way I can.”

“I…thank you,” he said, the surprise in his eyes softening as he looked at her. He cleared his throat. “But I remain completely committed to the Inquisition, and there is still work to do.” Neither of them were inclined to work at the moment, however. They continued to chat as a few boats came and went until Cullen suggested they get lunch. Anya found herself ready to eat but she did not want to draw attention to herself at any of the open-air cafés, which had been crafted to facilitate just the sort of spectacle that she wanted to avoid. She suggested they leave the area of the market and wander until they found food, and Cullen willingly walked aimlessly with her. They wound their way in the direction the Grand Cathedral, though neither mentioned their final destination.

As they strolled through increasingly narrow alleys with the cathedral looming hazily in the distance, Anya’s hunger grew impatient, though she was unwilling to chance the atmosphere or offerings of any of the random taverns they passed. She stopped a woman with a gold-trimmed mask where they could find a decent meal. The woman nearly gasped, affronted at the imposition, and murmured “the park” with the slightest gesturing of her head and lips pursed so tightly the words could barely escape. She hurried away as if Anya carried the blight.

As they walked in the opposite direction from the woman, Anya whispered to Cullen, “Do you think there is actually a park or did she send us toward the gallows?”

Cullen chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You are assuming there is not a gallows in the park. We are in Orlais, after all.”

Anya beamed at him, and a few moments later they indeed came upon a green space with wide walking paths that skirted large oak trees. The surrounding area was more modest than the extravagance of the Summer Market, with open-air cafes traded for stalls selling all variety of portable foods. Few of the park-goers wore masks, and no one gave Anya or Cullen a second glance. Anya hungrily dragged a willing Cullen toward the vendors. Cullen procured a pair of ham and butter sandwiches as Anya selected madelines to accompany their meal. They found an empty bench in the shade of one of the largest trees, and Anya thought both the setting and the company to be perfect. The food was delicious, and Anya felt an unexpected contentment as she and Cullen ate and talked. A slight breeze carried the scent of fresh bread and roses, and she felt a happy optimism that had long eluded her. Varric had been right; some time away from being the Inquisitor was just what she needed.

Cullen told her a story as they finished their meal about how the tree reminded him of an old oak near their home in Honnleath when he was a boy. He and his siblings used to climb as high as they dared, even though their mother insisted that they not climb it around Rosalie, whom she thought was too young to climb. Of course, this only made Rosalie want to climb it more, and one day Branson decided to boost her up to the lowest branch, despite Cullen’s protests. Rosalie was able to climb a few branches and was incredibly proud of herself until Mia called them to eat. Branson quickly slid down of the tree at the promise of food, but young Rosalie was instantly to terrified to get down from the tree. Cullen tried to coax her down, but she began to cry. Ultimately, he had to climb down the tree with Rosalie on his back and her arms wrapped crushingly around his neck.

“Of course, when we finally made it back to the house, Branson was already eating, completely unaware that anything had happened. My mother knew, I think, but she said nothing.”

“You were a very good big brother,” Anya said approvingly.

“I tried, though it wasn’t always easy. Especially when Branson was involved,” he said with a smile.

“You still miss them, though.” His affection for his family was evident, and it warmed her heart.

He nodded. “Mia had hoped to see more of me when I returned to Ferelden, but the trip to Skyhold would be too far and had been, until recently, far too dangerous for them to visit. I’ve not had the opportunity to plan my own visit.”

“Hmm…” Anya said, tapping her chin for effect. “Surely, there is some Inquisition business we could attend to near South Reach. When we get back to Skyhold, I’ll see if I can get Josephine to agree to strengthening our relationship with the arl.”

“With Leonas Bryland?” Cullen said, caught between confusion and amusement. “He was one of the first arls to commit their support to the Inquisition.”

“Well, even more reason to visit him, to thank him for his support,” Anya smiled, undeterred. 

He stared at her for a moment, clearly expecting her offer to be in jest. “You’re actually serious,” he said eventually, which she affirmed with a smile and a nod. His eyes searched her face as his own face softened. His eyes were warm with affection, and the urge to kiss him nearly overwhelmed her. She wanted to reassure him with the heat of her lips, with soft words whispered against his skin. Instead, she blinked and looked away, sparing both of them.

Cullen forced a cough as he began to stand. “Well…we should see what the Right Hand of the Divine requires of us.” They made their way toward the cathedral in silence. Anya twisted her ring around her finger as she began to worry more for her heart than her freedom.

The Grand Cathedral towered over them, larger and more imposing than Anya had even imagined. The complex was larger than Skyhold and dwarfed any other building in Val Royeaux, leaving little doubt as to the power and importance of the Chantry. Anya nervously chewed her bottom lip as she and Cullen passed through the gate.

They were immediately approached by a young sister in flowing Chantry robes with a placid face. She greeted them both and offered to direct them to their meeting with the right hand of the Divine. From inside the gate, the Grand Cathedral looked closer to a fortress at the heart of Val Royeaux than a place of worship, the high ramparts enclosed a sprawling stone courtyard with the two soaring towers of the cathedral at the far end opposite the courtyard entrance. Guards stood between the statues set into the ramparts at the edge of the courtyard, watching all visitors with unrelenting eyes. 

The sister silently lead them into the Grand Cathedral, appearing even larger in the interior than it did from outside. The ceiling soared high above them. Even the intricate stained-glass windows depicting scenes from the Most Holy Andraste’s life lining the walls were at least four times Anya’s height. She felt an increasing sense of discomfort as they walked to the right of the massive dais in the front of the cathedral and through a door leading to a twisting hallway, evidence of the many centuries of renovations which had been completed on the building. Anya felt lost after the second staircase, and when they finally reached their destination, a comfortably furnished room with high, crown glass windows, Anya’s disorientation increased her worry. When the sister told them she would inform “Sister Vivienne and the others” of their arrival before closing the door behind her, Anya’s eyes shot to Cullen’s.

“Who else are we meeting?” she whispered, trying to remain calm.

“I’m not sure,” Cullen said, more out of distraction than concern. “Likely other members of the Chantry. It appears Vivienne must have taken her vows before she was named as the Right Hand,” he said as he turned to look out the windows, though the glass mostly obscured the view. Anya joined him at the window, neither taking advantage of either the settees near the fireplace or any of the chairs around the table at the opposite end of the room.

Anya started as the door opened, revealing Vivienne, followed by Briala and a man Anya had never met. “Anya, darling,” Vivienne, dressed much the same as she always was in the elegant Orlesian fashion, greeted Anya warmly, then Cullen, before acknowledging Lady Briala of the Dales, whom both of them already knew, and introducing Arl Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe. Vivienne congratulated Anya and Cullen on their wedding and extended the congratulations of the Divine as well. “And I understand that you were married in Redcliffe?”

“Were you?” the arl asked with disinterested surprise.

Cullen stepped in as Anya struggled to make sense of this situation. “Yes, Revered Mother Eglantine performed the ceremony at the chantry in Redcliffe last week.”

“And Knight-Commander Harrith attended as well, I understand,” Vivienne added smoothly.

“Ah, yes, Harrith is a good man,” the arl commented. “He authorized your marriage, did he?”

“He did,” Cullen responded.

“I understand you have remained busy since your wedding,” Vivienne said, gesturing for everyone to sit. “You’ve just come from the Hissing Wastes.”

“Yes,” Anya said, finally gathering her composure. “There was Venatori activity.”

“The arl is of course familiar with the Venatori,” Vivienne said, without specifically mentioning that the arl had been evicted from his home by Alexius, who had been working with the Venatori, and that the arl now owed the return of his home to Anya. “As is Lady Briala. How did the Venatori fare against you in the Wastes?”

Anya told the group that the Venatori had been defeated, though she did not mention blood magic or the rescued slaves. Cullen added that Anya had been gravely wounded in the fight, which elicited concern from Vivienne. Anya described her experience with the perrepatae, which caused Vivienne’s upper lip to purse almost imperceptibly.

“Have you encountered such magic before?” Briala asked, intrigued.

“No. Dorian assures me that the perrepatae are incredibly rare, and that sort of magic is even rarer still. He’s anxious to begin investigating and studying it once we return to Skyhold.”

“You recall Dorian Pavus, Arl, who was with our Inquisitor when she reclaimed Redcliffe Castle?” Vivienne interjected with aplomb, as the arl muttered in the affirmative. “Dorian is an experienced scholar, and I am sure with his connections and the Inquisition’s resources, he will be able to uncover the nature of this threat. Which leads us to why we are here. During the peace talks between Empress Celene and King Alistair, the question was raised,” her eyes lingering a moment on Arl Teagan, “as to whether the Inquisition would continue, now that the Breach has been sealed. Besides the situation with the Venatori, there are still rifts reported throughout Thedas, yes?”

Anya felt like she was dancing without knowing the steps. “Yes, there are still some to close.”

“And as you are the only one who and close those rifts and to keep the demons from invading both Ferelden and Orlais, Divine Victoria has expressed that she supports the Inquisition continuing for another two years, during which time the Inquisitor should be free to move throughout both lands, addressing these ongoing threats.” She produced four copies of a document, which she distributed. “Given both countries’ experience with the threats already handled by the Inquisition, I hope both your rulers would not object.”

Anya skimmed the short document again. _Two years_. The Divine wanted her to be free of the Circle for at least two years.

“Empress Celene fully supports the Inquisition’s continued protection of the people of Orlais,” Briala said with small smile to Anya before looking to the arl.

“And at the end of this two years,” Arl Teagan muttered as his eyes scan the document, “the Divine will call an Exalted Council to discuss Inquisition activities?”

“As you aware,” Vivienne noted coolly, “the Inquisition does not require the support of either country to continue. However, Divine Victoria wishes to work with both countries for the good of all of Thedas. It is in the interest of all of Orlais and Ferelden that these rifts are closed. And if these rogue Venatori can be defeated without involvement of your leaders, certainly you can see the value in that.”

Arl Teagan looked like he had eaten sour grapes. “King Alistair also wishes for the continued safety of the Fereldan people, so long as Fereldan interests are not compromised,” he added.

“The Inquisition has no intention of compromising interests in Ferelden _or_ Orlais,” Cullen asserted. Anya nodded.

“Wonderful. We are in agreement,” Vivienne said, as she instructed each representative and Anya to sign the document, consenting to Divine Victoria calling an Exalted Council in two years time. After signed copies were distributed, Briala extended congratulations on their union on behalf of Orlais and excused herself to attend to other business. The arl claimed that now that this matter was completed, he also had pressing business that took him to Denerim.

“Before I go,” he said, pulling a document from his pocket, “give this to your ambassador. King Alistair wanted me to give it to you personally, since it seemed to be a matter of importance.” Anya opened the parchment so that Cullen could read it as well. “Regarding the Fereldan property being used by the Inquisition, and specifying that it is to be used by the Inquisition and held by the Inquisition, not specifically the you, Inquisitor.” He bid them a farewell and left to his very important business.

“Odious man,” Vivienne said after the door had closed behind him. “He complains that the Inquisition has too much power, but forgets that without you, he and the rest of Thedas would be destroyed. But, now that this formality is over, how are you, my dear? Still risking your life, it seems.”

“Two more years outside the Circle, Vivienne,” Anya said, her voice thick with barely restrained joy. “Two more years of freedom.”

Vivienne regarded her thoughtfully. “Remember that being able to move outside the Circle does not entitle you to freedom from consequences. You will continue to face danger nearly every day, beyond demons from the remaining rifts. There are already those who fear your power. If you want to continue to thrive outside the circles, you will need to handle those who would oppose you.”

Anya’s excitement was dampened but not extinguished. “I’m certain I can handle the likes of Arl Teagan.”

“He may one of the most vocal, but do not dismiss the empress or the king. They sent representatives today only because the Inquisition does not require their authority, but they will be watching you, very closely.”

Anya sighed affectionately. “You did always know how to put things in perspective, Vivienne. Or should I call you Sister Vivienne now?”

She made a dismissive motion with one of her elegant hands. “No more than you would call your spymaster Sister Leliana. I affirmed my faith, as is required by Chantry for those who serve as hand to the Divine, but I took no vows.” She offered to walk them back to the entrance of the Grand Cathedral as they continued talking. Vivienne told her that the Divine was adjusting well to her role, and that she wished for Vivienne to express her regrets that she was unable to meet with them. Divine Victoria remained in Cumberland after attending a congress with grand clerics prior to the Circles reopening. Vivienne observed that there had been expected resistance to the reopening of the Circles, but that it had been “addressed” and that mages again had a safe place to live and hone their magic. She intimated that the Divine was planning reforms for both mages and templars, and would appreciate their support, when the time came. Anya affirmed that she was looking forward to the Divine’s plans as Cullen nodded.

Vivienne smiled at Anya. “Do take care of yourself, my dear. And you as well, Commander.”

Anya wished Vivienne well, walking with enthusiastic vigor toward the Purple Cormorant. That she was free from the Circle for two more years, that she could stay in Skyhold with her friends made her happier than she could express. She was free of her own right. She would no longer have to worry about Cullen having to try to pass as a templar or worry that he would take lyrium just to protect her or worry about trying to convince everyone of the veracity of their marriage. Now they could just be Anya and Cullen, without pretending about how they feel for each other. After the time they had spent together today, she was hopeful that he would want to spend more time with her beyond what he felt was part of his duty. She was happy when she was with him, and she thought that he had enjoyed her company today as well. She smiled at him buoyed by hope, though he was unable to match her mood.

“You’re pleased with how the outcome of the meeting?” he asked, though the question did not need asking.

“Better than I could have hoped! I have a document approved by Orlais, Ferelden and the Chantry keeping me from the Circle. No more pretending!” she said, her words gushing enthusiastically. “Obviously, the property declaration is unnecessary now, but the arl didn’t need to know that. He seemed like he disliked me enough already. It’s almost as if he didn’t want me to save Redcliffe Castle. Maybe he wanted to move to Denerim to see to his ‘very important business.’”

Cullen did not share her levity. “We will need to arrange to return to Redcliffe,” he said stiffly.

“What? Why?”

“For the annulment.”

Anya’s breath unexpectedly hitched in her chest. She stopped walking. “What?”

Cullen stopped a few steps in front of her. He turned back without looking at her. “The annulment will have to be signed by the revered mother who performed the marriage ceremony.”

Anya’s head spun as her hope for something more than a sham marriage dissipated like smoke. The way that he had cared for her when she was hurt, the way his eyes softened when he smiled at her…had it all been a lie? Not a lie; Cullen was awful at lying. Had she misunderstood? He had been clear enough that night at Griffon Wing Keep, but she thought that maybe…

“We need to make the ferry to cross the Waking Sea. We should gather the others,” Cullen said as he began walking. Anya still said nothing, unable to articulate how dreadful she suddenly felt. She hurried to catch up to him, and they found Varric, Bull, and Dorian in a back room of the Purple Cormorant, which would have reminded her of Herald’s Rest if Anya had cared to look. Cullen confirmed that Varric had booked their passage and instructed everyone to prepare to head to the docks. No one mentioned his mood, though Dorian asked Anya about their meeting as they made their way to the docks. She briefly recounted what had happened, though said little else.

Anya kept to herself on the ferry after it became evident that Cullen was trying to avoid her. An issue with some of the cargo delayed their sailing, and even though their horses were the first off the ship, owing to Varric’s generous donation to the dockworkers in Val Royeaux, it was twilight by the time they arrived in Lydes. Unable to reach the Inquisition camp that night, Cullen procured four rooms at the inn. Anya felt stung when handed the key to her own room, and she sat dully on the lumpy bed alone. In her solitude, she was forced to acknowledge the newly hollow space in her heart, and she was overcome with tears.


	16. Chapter 16

The rest of the journey back to Skyhold was agonizing for Anya. If Cullen had informed the rest of their group of the impending end to their marriage, the other men said nothing of it, though they were all quieter than usual. Bull asked if Anya was alright as they dismounted in the final Inquisition camp before Skyhold, but no one pushed her when she assured them that she was fine. None of the scouts said a word when Anya requested a tent separate from Cullen’s. Ritts had been reassigned, for which Anya was selfishly thankful. She would not have been able to handle another of the woman’s well-meaning gestures. Anya spent enough time thinking about Cullen as it was, thinking about the time they had spent together and how she had been careless enough to think that it had meant something more. 

Passing through the entrance into Skyhold, Anya’s usual sense of relief at being home was replaced by a feeling of impending loss. Cullen had never given her reason to think that he cared for her beyond gentle smiles and considerate actions, so she felt even more foolish for her sadness. Coming back to Skyhold felt like returning their roles as Inquisitor and Commander, leaving the events of the past few weeks behind them, but as much as she wanted to hold on to what she thought they had, she would not ask it of Cullen. 

As they stabled their horses, Varric invited them both to drinks at Herald’s Rest after getting settled.Anya and Cullen made their way silently to the War Room. Cullen updated Josie and Leliana on information that had not been included in his reports, including Anya’s injuries at the hands of the magekiller and his magic and the specifics of their meeting in the Grand Cathedral. Anya asked Leliana to try to obtain to the list of books that Dorian required to research the magic, and she agreed. After some discussion regarding Arl Teagan’s chilly attitude toward the Inquisition, Josephine suggested that they begin to build alliances around him. The best way to silence a dissenting voice, she argued, was to ensure that it was alone in its criticism. Leliana disagreed, but Anya asked Josephine to foster relationships with more of the Fereldan arls, beginning with Leonas Bryland. Anya could feel Cullen watching her, but she dared not look at him. Instead, she asked him to prepare his soldiers to train the freed slaves, which Leliana reported would be arriving within the week. 

With everyone’s tasks assigned, Anya asked if there was any other business, even though she knew there was.

Cullen shifted uncomfortably. “Now that we have received word from King Alistair and the Chantry has granted Anya an uninhibited position as Inquisitor for the next few years, Anya and I will be going to Redcliffe tomorrow to seek an annulment from Mother Eglantine.” Anya stared at the war map as intently as she had when seeing it for the first time.

Josephine inhaled in what nearly sounded like a gasp. “So soon? You’ve just arrived back after what has clearly been a trying mission. Why not take a few days to rest?”

Cullen shook his head. “We will need to be here when the new recruits arrive from the Wastes.”

“If you are sure…?” Josephine asked, more to Cullen than Anya. He nodded as Anya forced herself to swallow anything she might say.

As they began to disperse, Leliana asked Anya to tell Dorian, if she saw him that night, to come see him in the morning regarding his research. She assured her that she would and turned to leave before anything else could be said. Cullen was ahead of her as they passed through Josephine’s office, and he held the door for her as she approached behind him. She whispered her thanks as she passed him before she stopped.

“Cullen, I…” she wavered between the words she wanted to say and those she should say, and then all sorts of other words came out in their place. “I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me. And I think you mentioned that you wanted to use that soaking tub that I got from the Orlesian noble and if you wanted to use it tonight you could? Because I know how nice it is to soak after being on the road and being on a horse for so long. And since you seemed like you had wanted to try it I could send one of the stewards to let you know when they have it ready?” _Why?_ Why was she talking to him about baths instead of how the thought of spending another night without him next to her caused her heart to ache?

Cullen cleared his throat. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

Anya scurried away with flaming cheeks to her room for fresh clothing and then to the small bathing room where her tub was ready as it always was after she arrived back to Skyhold. The water was hot and should have eased her tension, though Anya was unable to allow herself to relax. Instead, she quickly scrubbed herself clean of the grime of travel before using scented oils on her skin and drying herself with her magic. After dressing, she surprised the steward waiting outside the door by emerging so soon, then further by asking that a bath be drawn for Commander Rutherford. She asked the man to let him know when it was ready and to ensure that there was a towel available for the commander’s use.

Anya returned to her room with the intention of opening one of the bottles of wine she had left there, trying not to think about how she had originally taken them from the cellar under the guise of “wedding presents.” She grabbed one of the bottles from off her desk and noticed a large package there. It was the Fereldan draperies she had ordered in Orlais. She suddenly decided that she needed to be anywhere else.

She took the long route around the ramparts to Herald’s Rest, where she found Varric sitting at the bar. She sat down next to him and ordered her usual ale.

“Wasn’t sure you were going to take me up on my offer,” Varric said.

“Well, drinking sounds like a pretty good idea right now,” Anya said as she took a big drink of ale. It didn’t taste as good as she remembered.

“Is that so?”

“I _do not_ want to talk about it, Varric,” she said warningly.

“Whatever you say,” Varric said, taking a sip of his own drink, “Let’s go grab a table in case anyone else joins us, though.”

“If you’re talking about Cullen, he’ll probably be a while.” she responded without moving. At Varric’s questioning eyebrow, she bashfully admitted that she had offered him use of her tub.

Varric smiled. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Yes.” They sat for a while, talking of nothing important. Anya finished her drink, declining another. “I’m afraid I’m not good company tonight.”

“Hey, I’ve had far worse company than a quiet Inquisitor.”

She stood, leaving extra coins on the bar. “Buy a round if anyone else drops by?”

He offered her a small smile. “You could just stay and buy it yourself.”

She shook her head and wished him a good night. The sun had sunk low in the sky, darkening the interior courtyards of Skyhold. Anya wound aimlessly through the garden, mentally telling herself that she needed to remember to plant more herbs the next day. There was nothing she could do now except regret the the actions she hadn’t taken, though her regret had nothing to do with herbs. She returned to her rooms, taking the least busy hallways corridors to avoid talking to anyone.

The chill of the mountain air had permeated her bedroom, and she magically ignited the logs in the fireplace to ward off the cold. She wrapped herself in a blanket and sat in front of the fire, trying not to think of Cullen though ultimately not succeeding. She sat in front of the fire, nursing a heart filled with wanting, until she grew too warm. Blanket still around her shoulders, she wandered to the windows to watch the last pinks and purples of the sunset turn to grey and fade into deepening twilight. In her darkened room, the yellow of the Fereldan draperies appeared to glow with firelight. Anya ran her hands over the fabric again, remembering Cullen’s surprise when she selected them. If she had told him that they were her favorite because they reminded her of him, would things have been different?

Anya was suddenly too hot and flung the blanket unceremoniously onto her bed. She pulled on her boots, ready to go anywhere else in the hopes that she could stop thinking him. But as the opened the door to her rooms, her boots stopped on the threshold. Because pacing outside her room was Cullen.

“Anya.” He seemed surprised to see her emerging from her room. His hair clean but disheveled, as if he had been running his hands through it for too long. It made him look even more handsome.

Anya struggled to force words from her throat. “What are you doing here?”

His face was drawn and he asked if they could talk, and she stepped back to allow him into her rooms. As they climbed the stairs, Anya’s heart pounded in her chest. Cullen stopped in front of the fireplace, his back still toward her. She stopped a few steps from him, watching as he drew deep breaths before turning to face her.

“I love you, Anya. I have loved you longer than I can admit, even to myself. All my affection for you has been genuine. I know how you feel about templars, and I know that you cannot possibly feel as I do for you. I will spend the rest of my life proving my devotion to you. If you think there is any possibility, any chance that you could come to care for me, please…please allow us to wait on the annulment.”

Emotion was plain on his face, pain mixed with quiet desperation and a sliver of hope. She was so surprised with joy that she threatened to be speechless, but her desire to lessen his pain drove her to speak, her voice thick with emotion as she smiled at him. “I love you too, Cullen.”

He exhaled a shaking breath as relief washed over him. He rested his forehead against hers as they both reveled in their shared joy. “Tell me again,” he whispered to her.

Her smile grew as she tilted her head to look into his eyes. She cupped his face with her hand, and he melted into the touch. “I love you, Cullen Rutherford.”

Their lips met as every restrained kiss poured forth from them both. Soft, nearly chaste kisses gave way to deeper, hungrier ones. Anya’s body ignited as he opened his mouth against hers, and she pressed her body against his. His hands grabbed her hips, pushing himself against her. She pulled back, breathless, asking if he was sure this was what he wanted. He was certain, and he told her so with words and kisses that filled her with wanton desire. She pulled him toward her bed, and he followed her willingly with an amorous smile.

As they lie in bed later, bodies pressed together in a languid, shared afterglow, Cullen ran his fingers lightly over Anya’s skin, seemingly unwilling to stop touching her. She nuzzled tenderly against his neck, kissing the spot where his heart thrummed steadily. He hummed contentedly, and she smiled against his skin and looked up at him, causing her necklace to pull at her neck as it stuck between them. She freed the stone from between them and kissed him before running her fingers over the filigree. “You know, I found a necklace almost exactly like this when we were exploring Emprise du Lion. I almost kept it for myself. I held on to it through Orlais and the Hinterlands, but now I’m glad that I sold it. I like this one much better,” she said, running her fingers over the stone.

“You sold it to Bonny Sims when you came back,” he murmured.

She propped herself on her elbow to look at him. “How did you know that?”

His cheeks flushed slightly. “Dorian mentioned it while we were playing chess. I thought I would look, just to see what it was you liked…”

“Wait. Is this the same necklace?”

“It was very nice, so I convinced myself to get it. One of my more impulsive decisions, and one I do not regret,” he said with a lopsided smile.

Anya ran her hand affectionately over his chest. “That was months ago.” she said with a sad smile.

He nodded. “I had just stopped taking lyrium. That you were supportive of my decision, and the compassion you showed me then…I never told you how much it meant to me. I’m not sure where I’d be if you hadn’t trusted my decision.”

“You earned my trust, but I wish you hadn’t had to go through it alone. Did you ever think of telling me how you felt?”

He briefly shook his head. “By the time I admitted my feelings to myself, you were in the middle of saving the world, not to mention involved with someone else. It would have been inappropriate to tell you how I felt.”

She hummed thoughtfully, her fingers gently tracing his collarbone as she leaned closer to his face. “Well, I’m your wife now, so you can always tell me how you feel.”

His love for her warmed his eyes as he brought his hand to rest on her back. He held her gaze for a few precious moments. “I truly never thought I would feel happiness like this,” he whispered. She kissed him, her heart too full to express itself in words. They fell asleep holding each other. When he awoke in the night, as she knew he would, she held him with loving reassurance, and when they left her room together in the morning as husband and wife, their love was as evident as the smiles on their faces.


	17. Epilogue

Anya had seen Cullen lead forces into battle against abominations that defied explanation. She’d seen him face a room of Orelsian nobility with a stony glare in the midst of an assassination attempt. But here, riding his horse on a road in the middle of verdant Fereldan fields, she had never seen him more nervous.

“Everything will fine, Cullen,” she assured him again.

Worried lines crossed his brow. “It’s been half a lifetime since I have seen them. I’m not the same man they knew.”

Anya reached her hand out to him, and he took it as she squeezed his hand affectionately. “I love who you are, and they do too. Besides, they’ve all changed as well. I’m sure Branson is no longer dropping surprise frogs in Mia’s lap.”

Cullen smiled, though the tension was still evident in his face. He hadn’t seen his family since he left to join the Templar Order at thirteen. Mia had written an enthusiastic and only slightly chastising reply when Cullen had written to her that he and Anya were married. Despite learning of their wedding in a letter a month after the event, Mia invited them to visit on behalf of her family and both his other siblings. All of them lived in the area around South Reach, and once Anya made plans for her and Cullen to visit Leonas Bryland, arl of South Reach, Cullen finally arranged to see his siblings again.

Their meeting with the arl now behind them, they continued toward Mia’s house, where everyone would be gathered. Her husband, Jonathon, was a skilled woodworker who employed Rosalie’s partner Kye as his assistant. They lived in a house neighboring Mia and Jonathon, and Branson and his wife Salma lived on their own farm not far off. Anya mentally rattled off the names and relationships as they continued down the road. She had no doubt that Cullen’s family still loved him; their letters were evidence enough of that. But she worried about how they would accept her.

As they rounded a turn in the road, a boy’s voice echoed, “They’re here! I see them! Mum! Dad! They’re here!”

“I think we have been spotted,” Anya whispered to Cullen. “I love you,” she said, hoping to ease some of the tension from his face.

It had the desired effect. “I love you, too.”

People began to stream out the house as Anya and Cullen approached. Anya watched Cullen as he saw his family for the first time in nearly twenty years. The tension gave way to relief at their happy smiles. Soon after dismounting their horses, Anya and Cullen were swept up in hugs the likes of which Anya had never felt. Mia made it to them first, tears in her eyes as she she held her arms wrapped around Cullen, telling him with a smile that she hadn’t been sure he would come. Then she moved on to Anya, crushing her with the same affection, and welcoming her to the family. Branson was more jovial and Rosalie more restrained, but each welcomed them both heartily, as did their partners. Introductions were made to their partners and the children. Stanton was the spitting image of his father, though Marcus looked more like Mia. Mia said that the shadow behind her skirts was Eleanor, who was feeling a bit shy, and whose brown eyes met Anya’s for only a fraction of a second.

Then all the siblings began talking, easily picking up the decades’ old rhythm of familiarity. It took approximately two minutes for Marcus’s boyish enthusiasm to overflow and ask Anya if her hand glowed, which earned him a reproach from his father. Anya smiled and confirmed by showing him her left hand, which fascinated both boys and even caused Eleanor to peek out from behind her mother. A torrent of questions about whether she could do magic, if she was a mage, did she live in a castle, poured out of them. Anya answered in good humor until Johnathon ended the barrage by telling the boys to tend to the horses.

“I’m surprised they lasted that long before asking you about magic. Marcus has talked of little else since he heard the two of you would be visiting,” Kye told Anya with a wry smile.

“Well, at least they were excited to meet me. I’ve received worse welcomes, trust me.” Anya smiled.

“Mia said the boys barely slept last night, they were so excited about meeting you and Cullen,” Salma said, balancing her only child, Declan, on her hip while also trying to keep him from pulling too hard on her braid. “How are you finding married life?”

Anya looked to Cullen at her left, who met her eyes with a smile. “Better than I ever expected,” she replied.

She asked about the wedding, which drew everyone’s attention. Anya explained that they had little time to marry before leaving for western Orlais, bringing only their friends who joined them on the trek. Everyone was horrified on their behalf that they had to spend their first night as a married couple in a camp tent. To Anya’s relief, there was no animosity that they had not been invited to the wedding. That Varric Tethras had been in attendance immediately captured Rosalie’s attention, who was unaware that Cullen had known him for many years. She had read all of his books she had been able to get her hands on, and Anya made a mental note to have Varric sign a copy of his latest to send to her.

Everyone continued chatting until Mia invited everyone inside to eat. Anya and Cullen brought wine to share, and lunch turned into a two hour affair full of lively conversation and reminiscence. Marcus and Stanton, who had been quickly excused outside after eating, came back in and begged to show their uncle their favorite climbing tree. Mia approved only after the table was cleared, which was done as fast as humanly possible. Jonathan and Branson joined the trek to the tree, which was on the edge of the woods just visible from the house. A race was declared, and Anya watched her husband and brothers-in-law jockey for position as they trailed closely behind the boys.

“Thank you for making him visit,” Mia said quietly to Anya after a moment, tears in her eyes again.

“He wanted to,” Anya said honestly. “He missed all of you. Truly.”

“I’ve worried so much about him. He’s always been awful about responding to my letters, even before he left Kinloch Hold. To see him again, and for him to be so happy…I can’t tell you what it means to me. Both of you will always be welcome here, whenever you have time to visit,” she said, her hand quickly wiping her cheek.

Anya thanked her, unexpectedly emotional herself. She had long ago made peace with her family disowning her, but that Cullen’s family would so willingly welcome her was overwhelming. The sense of belonging made her feel a peace which she had not realized she had been missing. She blinked away her tears and suddenly saw Eleanor, looking up at her.

“Aunt Anya, will you play with me?” she asked softly.

Mia interjected, but Anya assured her it was alright. Eleanor smiled brightly as she led Anya to the bedroom she shared with her brothers. She pulled out two wooden cups and saucers, clearly a treasured gift from her father. Cullen found them there later, sitting on the floor.

“We are having tea and cheese,” Anya explained as she pretended to sip from her cup.

Cullen’s eyes shone. “May I join you?”

“Only if you don’t poison the tea,” Eleanor said sternly.

“Why would you think I would poison the tea?” Cullen asked, looking at Anya, who shrugged in confusion.

“Marcus _always_ tries to poison the tea. Or serves slug tea. And I don’t like slug tea,” she said very seriously.

Anya pressed her lips together to hide her smile as Cullen responded. “Ah, yes. Well, brothers are sometimes not the best guests to have for tea. But I promise to not use any poison and to only drink the delicious tea that you serve.”

Eleanor nodded and Cullen sat next to Anya on the floor. They ate their fill of invisible cheese, bread, and tea with not a slug to be found. Kye and Rosalie eventually came to ask Eleanor for some tea with knowing smiles, and when Cullen announced that both he and Anya were full, Eleanor dismissed them for her hungrier guests.

Anya and Cullen returned outside, hand in hand, and conversed until it was time for them to leave. They were gifted a thick, large quilt that Mia, Rosalie, and Salma had been making for Cullen since learning that he had arrived in the Frostbacks and a gorgeous set of wooden candlesticks crafted by Kye and Johnathon. Anya and Cullen left with many more hugs and promises to keep in touch and visit again soon. As they headed toward the inn in South Reach, Anya was struck by the change in Cullen’s face from earlier in the day. The worry on his face had melted away, leaving only peaceful contentment.

They ate bread and cheese when they arrived at the inn, both agreeing that Eleanor had served superior fare. They retired upstairs to lie cuddled together in the small bed of their room for the evening.

“Your family is wonderful, Cullen. I think I was hugged more today than I have been in my whole life.”

He chuckled. “They loved you, as I knew they would. Thank you for coming with me today. I…had not realized how much I missed them.”

“I’m sure I can arrange more meetings with Arl Leonas, but you don’t need an excuse to visit your family. I will join you on a visit anytime.”

His fingers gently traced loving lines down her face. “I hope you know how much I love you,” he said with tender devotion.

Anya smiled with equal fondness. “I do know, but I enjoy hearing you tell me.”

Cullen smiled as he kissed her lips. “I love you.”

He smiled as he kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

He smiled as he kissed the scar on her jaw. “I love you.”

He smiled as he kissed the tender flesh of her neck. “I love you.”

And he continued to prove his devotion well into the night.


End file.
